The Mind's Eye
by LadyDragon1316
Summary: After being sent to Skyrim by an ailing father, Deanne looses her brother and finds herself alone in the vast cold north. Even with the support of new friends and companions she may make, Deanne will have to depend on her own inner strength as she walks the path to a destiny greater than anything she could ever dream of.
1. Prologue

"Marc! Wait up!" She stumbled through the high grasses, trying to catch up with her brother. But she just couldn't go fast enough.

"Go home, Deanne," she heard him shout from somewhere ahead of her.

Stubbornly, she just picked up her knees more and tried to jump with every step. She was old enough to keep up. She was! "I'm coming!" She fought her way through the grass until a stone caught her foot and sent her sprawling. Stalks bent and the very plants that impeded her now caught her fall. Deanne clambered up and tried to spot her brother through the tops of the swaying fronds

"Marc? Marc?!"

He didn't answer her. The wind brushed through the field, the rush of the blades of grass and the dancing seed pods drowned out any sound of his movements. Deanne couldn't hear him. Didn't know which way he'd gone. But she didn't want to just go home. Not now that he'd finally agreed to take her exploring outside the city. So, the girl picked a direction and set off again. Trying to catch up with him.

"Marc?"

She ran on, kicking her way through the grass. Where was he?

"Marc!"

She put on an extra burst of speed, pumping her little legs in the direction she thought he'd gone.

"Marc!"

The grass curtain disappeared. She stumbled over the edge of the overgrown ravine, and went tumbling head over heels down the slope through brush and branch. She closed her eyes and curled up tight as the undergrowth scratched and clawed at her dress and her arms. Her descent was halted abruptly as enormous pain burst from her head and the world went out.

When the girl woke, the first thing she felt was pain. Her whole head ached and hurt, like the blacksmith had been pounding on her head instead of a horseshoe. She was cold and her dress was wet. She heard insects all around her and the gentle gurgle of the stream.

Deanne shifted, a bunch of aches popping up all over her body, and tried to pull herself away from the water. It was too dark to see now, so she had to feel her way across the little bank, through the dense ferns and plants that she'd tumbled through and to the trunk of a small tree.

Her head still hurt so much. Where was she? And where was Marc?

The sound of a bird startled her and the girl shrieked, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Were wild animals around? What if there was a bear or a mountain lion that would hear her and come and eat her? She was all alone.

Deanne curled up against the tree, torn between the pain in her head and the fear of the world around her. Where was she? How long had she been down here? Had anyone come looking? Would they look here?

The girl felt her nose and eyes prick, and the tears well up. She wasn't gonna cry. Marc would laugh at her. He'd call her a baby. But…she was lost.

She was alone.

Someone had to find her.

"Marc?" she called, terrified something else might hear her, but more terrified that no one would find her at all.

Another sound from the trees above her shattered the quiet. Was it a bird? An animal? In her head, visions of horrible creatures took shape. What was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to do?!

"Marc!" she yelled again. "Papa!" Her fear mounted and hot tears coursed down her face. "Please! Someone!"

Someone…please, someone find her…


	2. The Comfort of Home

**Hello readers. Here is another of the storylines that has congealed in my mind to the point where I just had to start writing it down. I figured it would be cruel for me to just post up a prologue, so here's a first chapter as well. Enjoy.**

Within the comfortable confines of their small home, a young woman sat on her accustomed stool by the fire, knitting needles clicking gently in her hands. The scarf growing from them was the latest of many. The knitting was tight and even, but the designs were never the same. Each one was unique and everyone knew who made them.

At the sound of bubbles breaking the surface of a thickened stew, she set her knitting to the side and moved to kneel before the stove. She chose the wooden spoon from the second hook on the right and stirred the pot's contents, judging consistency before raising a spoonful to her lips. She blew, tasted, then added a bit of salt from the bowl to her left. Satisfied with dinner's progress, she returned to her seat, reached down until she felt her knitting and went back about her work while she waited.

She heard footsteps approaching before the door opened. Most people knocked first, so it must be—

"Marc?"

Deanne received a grunt in return as he closed the door.

"Are you alright? Did anything happen?" He'd been gone a while.

"I've got the medicine, okay? Quit hovering. It's not like he's going anywhere."

At his words a shadow in her heart made itself known once again that made her fear otherwise.

Marc strode across the room and put the vial into her hands along with a weathered bit f paper. "And some letter for him too."

Deanne hesitated to accept it. "Why don't you give it to him?" she asked hopefully. It had been so long the two had gotten along. But perhaps with a bit more contact—

Marc snorted. "You can get to him just fine. And I'm tired." He immediately went over and around the partition that separated his bed from the house and she heard him flop onto the bed.

He was in one of his ill moods. They seemed to plague him often since he'd come home from the capital, his bitterness and annoyance growing over the months. It troubled her. There would be no talking to him or convincing him to do anything just now. So Deanne tucked the paper into her pocket and went about preparing a cup of tea to accompany the medicine.

"Marc?" came a reedy voice from another room.

"I'm here, father," was the reply, spoken brusquely from where he lay.

Their father must have heard the mood in his voice as well because ehe did not call again.

Deanne finished preparing the tea and went into her father's room. She took the three steps to his bedside and offered the tea. "Your medicine, father. Marc brought it." She hoped such mentions of due credit might bridge the gap between them. But so far, nothing seemed to have come of it. That didn't mean she would stopped trying. As he took the cup from her, she retrieved the letter that Marc had brought. "And mail as well."

He set the tea on his bedside table with a gentle clink, then took the paper and opened it quickly. "Ah, good. I was hoping for this. Marc, come in here!"

Deanne heard the groan from the other room after which her brother heaved himself up and plodded in to join them. As interested as Deanne was to know what the letter contained, she reminded him, "Your medicine, father."

"Oh, yes. Thank you, dear." He picked up the cup and drank it down in one gulp with an exaggerated grimace to punctuate. Thank the Eight she'd thought to temper it with cooler water. "Tastes retched as ever. Wish they'd pick kinder ingredients."

"Well, it's not like I can do anything about that, now can I?!" Marc snapped, taking the comment an assignment of blame.

Their father sighed rather than try to set him straight, which told Deanne he was feeling worse. She hoped the medicine would work quickly, but it seemed to be doing less and less every the week. And the shadow over her heart grew darker.

Rather than get into another argument with his son, the old man said, "My children, I came to a decision some time ago. And now that I've received this, preparations can be made. You can no longer remain here."

"What?" Deanne cried, grasping for his hand. "Why?!"

He gave her his hand and patted the back of her arm, saying gently, "Because I am dying, my dear."

Marc said tersely, "Well, we've known that for a while."

She twisted back toward him. "Marc!"

Their father patted her arm again, calling her to calm down. "No, no, Deanne. Marc is right."

The young woman turned back to him. "But the medicine. It's going to make you better! The priests said so."

Her father laughed gently, at peace with this terrible thing. "It does make me better. But 'better' is not 'well', Deanne."

Her face must have told all because he reached forward and touched her cheek to comfort her. The tears cascaded down her cheeks at the contact. She immediately fell forward and buried her face in his shirt, unable to stop herself. He couldn't die! He just couldn't!

Marc was far from overcome. "So where are you sending us?"

As he held her, their father replied, "I sent correspondence to an old friend of mine a while ago and this is the reply. You remember my mentor, don't you?"

"Tolder, or something."

"Tolfdir," the older man corrected. "He's still a teacher at the College of Winterhold in Skyrim. I've told him about both of you and he's willing to let you stay at the College indefinitely."

"Winterhold?" Deanne said hesitantly, extricating herself briefly from her father's embrace. "In Skyrim? Why so far away?"

While she questioned, Marc became incensed. "I don't need your pity," he spat. "If I wanted to try for another 'center for higher magical learning' I'd do it myself. I don't need your help!"

"If that is how you feel about it, then don't stay. If your pride demands you go it alone, then do so. But after you have gotten your sister there safely."

Marc snorted, taking the whole proceeding as an attack on him. "Of course. So I'll abandon my poor little sister _and_ an opportunity to better myself. Is that the size of it? Or I be the dutiful man of the house, limping about on my father's crutch!"

"Marc—"

"No, I see. Me and my pride. Me and my temper. It's always me that's the problem! Me who's the disappointment! Even though it's me that's kept this whole family afloat since you got bedridden. Oh yeah, father, I see. A dying man's last request! Of course I'll do it. I'd be a scoundrel not to, right?!"

"Marc, stop it!" Deanne cried desperately.

Marc stomped out of the room without bothering to apologize. "I'm out of here!" He swept his robe up and an instant later the door slammed shut so hard that the shelves on the same wall rattled.

Deanne was dumbfounded. When had he gotten so angry? And why couldn't she do anything right to make him feel better?

Her father rubbed the back of her hand that was still clasped in his. "It's alright, Deanne. He'll come back."

She nodded and tried to let that comfort her as she turned to face what had been casting the horrible shadow in her heart all this time. "I don't want you to die. I don't want to leave you."

"I know, my dear. But I don't want you to see me waste away, either. Better you remember me as I am now and get a head start on your journey. I know I won't last until the winter, and the journey that far north will be hard enough in the fairer season. You need to leave as soon as possible now that Tolfdir has agreed to take you."

Deanne persisted. "But why can't we just stay here?"

His sad smile could be heard in his voice. "We have not made such good friends here that you would be well taken care of. But Tolfdir and I were close as kin before I left the College. And I told him how gifted you both are. There will be a place for you there. And without all the ambitions and politics of the Arcane University. Trust me, my dear, this is for the best."

"And what about Marc?"

The old man sighed. "Marc is determined to make his own way. I don't know if he'll stay with you. I hope so. But…you need to be prepared to do without him, if it comes to that."

Her eyes stung anew. The young woman squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head forcefully. "I can't. I can't!"

Her father kissed her forehead and pulled her toward him. Deanne threw herself within his paternal protection, wishing she could stay there forever. "You are stronger than you think, my darling daughter. But _you_ need to believe that. Have courage. Your life is only just beginning."

The young woman cried in his arms for a while. She tried to be strong. Tried to find the courage he wished for her. But all she found was terror. Terror of losing him. Terror of being alone should her brother depart from her as well. And terror especially of the world outside their home that she was to be thrust into with so little warning. A world that seemed darker to her than ever before.

**So that's the beginning of 'The Mind's Eye'. Let me know what you thought. I'll keep writing.**


	3. The Road North

**Another chapter of Mind's Eye. I'm kind of impressed that just about every reviewer hated Marc. I mean, that was the intention. I just didn't expect it to be taken to so quickly. Props to you, audience.**

Deanne clutched her pack tightly with one arm and her father's arm with the other, not daring to let go. Not for an instant. Because even if he had gone to the trouble of arranging this, and all the plans were made and now being set in motion , the young woman still did not want to leave him.

It had been hard for him to get all the way to the city's gates, even with the assistance of her shoulder and that of his cane. But he'd made the effort besides, wanting to see them both off.

"Are you sure you can't come with us?" Deanne whispered, unable to speak any louder through the tightness of her throat.

"No. I wouldn't make the journey, and it would only add complication and expense. You'll be better off going without me."

She tightened her hold on him. He was so much thinner now than he had been even a month ago. How long would he last once they were gone?

Marc came back from speaking with the driver. "We're all set. He'll get us to Bruma. We'll get another from there into Skyrim. Then work our way up to Winterhold."

"Do you have your papers?"

"Yes, father. I've got 'em. And remember you can't go back to the house," he reminded, as if fully expecting their father to have forgotten.

Marc had finalized the sale of their home this morning, along with the sale of everything they could afford to do without. To the best of her knowledge, Marc carried the bulk of their earthy wealth in coin and all that remained of their possessions was in the bags they carried.

"Yes, Marc. I do remember."

Deanne asked hesitantly, "Will you be alright, father?"

He chuckled softly. "The chapel will take good care of me until my end."

"We've paid them enough," Marc grumbled. Before their father could take a breath, Marc went on. "I know, I know. 'Donated'. Look, the cart's waiting. So let's get on with it." There wasn't the least pause before his heel turned in the dirt and he strode back over to hoist himself into the cart.

Deanne felt herself come to the verge of tears again. Couldn't he gather even a little gentility? This was the last time they would all be together. Even if the two didn't get along, this was still their father.

The young woman turned into the older man's embrace. "Don't worry about me, my dear," he reassured her. "I've led a full life. And I want you to do the same."

She hugged him tight and tried to engrain every detail of this into her memory. "I love you, father."

"And I love you, my dearest Deanne." She wish they could have had more time. She wished this hadn't been so sudden.

Someone yelled "Hoi!" from the front of the cart and her father released her.

"It's time to go."

She nodded mutely and clung to him as he walked her to the back of the cart amidst the few others who were making this journey with them and helped her get in. Up in the cart, Marc took her arm more business-like and maneuvered her around the various mercantile being shipped to sit her down in the very corner behind the driver. He didn't sit down with her, instead hopping out of the cart to walk along beside. She wrapped her arms around the pack in her lap, needing something to hold on to.

A few minutes later the cart lurched forward and they started their way down the road. Deanne lifted her hand and waved back down the road toward her father. She hoped he saw her.

And meanwhile the wheels rolled forward, grinding dirt and bumps beneath them as they carried her away, helpless as a newborn. Away from Skingrad, and her home and her father. Away from the only life she'd ever known. And into the great wide world.

XXX

The travel was uneventful, which was a blessing, she supposed. Deanne marked the passage of the landscape but, with no knowledge of how to reference her location, she had no idea where they were or how far they were from their destination. Some people rode in the cart, most walked alongside to ease the burden on the horses. Deanne never left her seat.

Marc did not ride with her at all. She heard him talking around the cart periodically, but it was never to his sister. He didn't do much more than sit her by the fire when they camped either. It pained Deanne that he was still so distant. After all, it was just the two of them now. Sure, she wasn't the easiest of siblings to take care of, and she needed him much more than he needed her. But they were family. They wouldn't see their father again. All they had was each other.

Shortly into their journey, she decided she wanted to do something for him. And, with nothing else to occupy her during the day, she pulled out her knitting needles and one of the skeins of yarn she carried. It was a bit more difficult to knit with the cart bumping along on the road, but she kept to her work diligently.

On the third day of travel, they passed the Imperial City where Marc had once studied magic. But they didn't go inside the city. Instead the cart parked itself in the little town of Weye across the bridge. Deanne wondered if the capital looked very different now from the way it had before the Great War. Not that she would ever know.

They kept going north. Deanne felt the cart begin to angle uphill steadily. Before long the temperature dropped and she had to pull out her cloak. Now she understood why so much coin had been spent on warm coverings for the both of them. They hadn't even reached Skyrim yet and it was already so different from home.

She finished the scarf just before they had arrived at Bruma, Cyrodiil's northern most city. Doubtless there were some dropped stitches in there, but it was warm. And she'd poured all her best wishes and the most pleasant thoughts she could muster into the weave. After the cart stopped, Marc helped her out of the cart and into another sitting her down amongst a different collection of goods behind a different driver.

"Marc," she said catching his attention before he could leave her in her seat new seat for the untold period before camp. She offered him the garment. "It's been getting colder. I made this for you."

He was silent for a few seconds. Then said, "Cold? This isn't anything, Deanne. It's gonna get a lot worse up in the Jeralls. You better start looking to yourself." Then he jumped down and walked off, leaving her holding the scarf.

Her eyes pricked but she swallowed the tears down, not wanting to shame him or herself. Why couldn't she do anything right by him?

Deanne settled back in her seat and wrapped the scarf around her neck, sealing in the warmth she had hoped to impart to her brother. The cart started off and, with nothing else to do, she retrieved another skein of yarn and kept herself busy.

Marc had been right. It did get colder. There was snow and the road became steep as they traveled up and over the Jerall Mountains. She heard Marc cursing the cold periodically as they went, but he never came to her about the scarf. In the meantime, she huddled beneath her cloak and kept quiet, not daring to complain and risk irritating anyone. Too soon, her hands became so cold she couldn't even knit. Had they reached Skyrim yet?

The change of incline was abrupt. One moment they were going uphill, then they crested a particular peak and their road shifted down. Deanne was only too happy when the temperature began to rise and the land around them became populated with living wilderness again instead of the bleak, frigid peak.

Although the wilderness was nothing like home. She recognized no birds. Didn't know what kind of trees were rustling their leaves in the winds, or what creatures were wandering beyond the scope of her senses. It was frightening to be somewhere so new and different, not knowing what was out there beyond the cart. But there were worse things.

"What's that?" someone asked.

Deanne perked up as the driver answered, "Helgen. The Imperial Army's outpost for this road. Hope everyone's got their papers ready. Not sure if you'll leave here if you don't."

Marc had her papers, and his own. He was the better choice to deal with this sort of thing. Deanne held on tightly to her pack, a little anxious that they were finally crossing the border. But she didn't need to be worried. She'd heard there was a civil war happening up here, but obviously neither of them had anything to do with that. There would be no reason for the Empire to detain them. Even telling herself that, Deanne couldn't help but hug her belongings tighter.

A pair of wooden gates opened in front of them and the cart ambled through. There were sounds of soldiers all around them, drills, patrols, shouted orders.

One soldier approached the cart and demanded, "Papers."

Every individual withdrew the papers for their passage. Even the driver. Although he did mutter lightly, "The Empire just loves their lists." The soldier didn't respond and looked over each page given to her, checking them over.

Other soldiers approached the back of the cart, probably to check the cart's contents. They noticed her.

"One back here."

"She's my sister," Marc interrupted. "These are hers."

Deanne waited while the soldier checked over the documents Marc had handed over. "Everything seems in order," she said definitively.

One of the soldiers hopped up in the cart and checked around the goods. Nothing was out of place or suspicious because he was out of the cart less than a minute later. Then the soldier in charge declared, "You're clear. The gate to the right. Welcome to Skyrim."

**Mostly a progression chapter. No main quest start up. Leave a review before you go, and I'll see you next chapter.**


	4. The Land of Skyrim

***sigh* My betas have vanished. My beta, my back-up beta, and the beta I didn't want to involve in an additional storyline is still in school. I'm rather tired of holding onto multiple chapters, so I'm posting this one without beta oversight. If you see any issues, let me know. Otherwise, enjoy.**

Deanne stayed tucked into the corner of the cart as they traveled into the land of Skyrim. She kept all of her senses open, trying to gather as much information as possible about this new place that she was going to call home. What would it be like? This place wasn't frightfully cold. Actually, Bruma had been a bit colder. So when did this temperate Skyrim turn into the frigid Skyrim she'd always heard about?

The young woman's musings were broken by the sounds of someone breaking through brush and branch to come out on the road off to their right.

"Hail!" came a rough voiced call with a thick brogue that was foreign to hear ears. Was this the sort of Skyrim accent she would be hearing from now on?

The driver didn't give much of a verbal response and kept the cart moving.

"Headed to Riverwood? Mind if I travel alongside?" the newcomer asked.

"Not so sure I should be sharing so quickly with a wilder," the driver remarked. But he didn't shoo the newcomer off so another was added to their traveling group.

In the next few miles, Deanne heard the newcomer and her brother start talking.

"New to Skyrim?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Could always smell a Heartlander. What brings you north?"

"Father died. He had some friends in Winterhold."

"Oi!" came the exclamation. "You've got a ways to go, don't ya?"

They talked and Deanne's knitting slowed so that she could pay attention. The newcomer turned out to be an adventurer of sorts. Marc grilled him about the way things were in Skyrim and the newcomer was only too happy to inform him: giants, saber cats, mammoths and ice wraiths in the wild. Ancient Nord ruins, abandoned Dwemer cities. The Forsworn in the west. The civil war across the whole province. Deanne had no idea there was so much going on up here. As if she wasn't anxious enough about being in this new place already.

But Marc seemed excited. Deanne was glad for that at least. He hadn't been happy or excited for a long while now. Or at least he'd never been happy or excited around her or father for a long while. It was good to know he could still feel such things. Although, it made her wonder what the source of all his unhappiness was.

"The thing to watch out for are the markers that Falmer put outside their lairs. They bind up bones and the shells of chaurus and stake them at the doors. At least that's usually the case."

Deanne leaned up over the cart's edge and asked, "What's a Falmer?"

There was a pause in the conversation.

"Don't eavesdrop, Deanne! It's rude."

The young woman flinched as the excitement fled Marc's tone and he turned bitter once again. She dropped her head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to… Sorry." She lowered herself down from the cart's edge again and back to her seat on the floor.

A minute later, she heard the newcomer ask, "Who's that?" He lowered his voice and spoke quietly, but Deanne had good hearing and could still make out every word.

"My sister," Marc said, as if admitting a mortal flaw.

"Hm… Not bad."

"You want her? You can have her." Deanne felt a cold shiver run up her spine when she could detect no humor in his tone.

"Nah," was the reply. "Not my type. I need a woman who'll bite me back in bed. There's this warrior woman in Whiterun: Uthgerd the Unbroken. Now _that's_ a proper Nord woman. Couldn't even get her in the sack until we'd bloodied each other up."

At that point Deanne tried to focus back on her knitting. At least until they were done talking about women. Marc seemed particularly interested in all of the newcomer's treasure hunts. Where he'd gone. What he'd found. Deanne was interested, too. But she'd already learned she wasn't welcome in this conversation and did not interrupt again.

They arrived in Riverwood just before sunset and spent the night there. The newcomer remained with them when they started off again in the morning. Whiterun was another day away, over which the rush of leaves gave way to the whisper of grass. It reminded Deanne of the fields outside Skingrad, only without the smell of flowers and fruit and wine.

When the cart rolled to a stop outside of Whiterun, the one who had traveled with them tried to convince Marc to enter the city.

"The Bannered Mare's got warm beds and cold mead. It don't get much better than that. I'll even buy the first round."

But Marc declined. "We haven't the gold to spare. Barely enough to get us to Winterhold as is."

The newcomer wasn't insulted by the dismissal. "Well whenever you get it in your head to actually take up the adventuring path, you look me up."

"I'll do that."

The newcomer bid farewell and Marc fell back into his sullen persona when he was gone. "Come on, Deanne." He grabbed her arm more roughly than usual and went about finding a place to lay their pallets where there were fewer rocks to dig into their backs.

He roused her early the next morning and took her down to where another cart was waiting for service.

"How much to get us to Winterhold?"

"Fifty gold," the Nord driver replied.

Marc balked. "Fifty gold!?"

"For each of you."

"That's highway robbery!"

"No, it's _because_ of highway robbery. What with the war goin' on, there are fewer guards on the road, which means more bandits and marauders than ever. With us, you've got an easy ride and protection from the riffraff. But if you'd rather huff it alone, be my guest. I'll make sure to tell the hold guards when I pass your bodies on the road."

Marc growled, "I was told it was twenty gold. Not fifty."

"Twenty if you were goin' to Windhelm. Winterhold's a minor hold. Out of our usual way. That's extra."

Deanne felt Marc fume. She knew they didn't have much coin to their names. But this was a necessary cost. Once they got to Winterhold, everything would be fine. It would be stable. But they had to get there first.

"Marc…"

He didn't even seem to have heard her. Having thought furiously, he ultimately declared, "You'll get fifty now and fifty once we arrive."

The driver wasn't impressed. "That's not how it works, laddie."

"It's how you'll work this time! I'm not about to hand over what's left of our coin to someone who's just as liable to leave us on the road somewhere as do as he claims."

The scrutiny from the driver was palpable. "In my experience, those who don't trust folk are untrustworthy themselves. Let's see the gold. All of it."

Marc growled but shrugged Deanne off to pull out their coin purse. He opened the bag and thrust its contents into the driver's view. The Nord grunted in begrudging satisfaction, at which point Marc dug into the bag. "Fifty now. Fifty when we arrive."

"Fine, laddie," was the reply as the coin was exchanged. "We'll start off in a few hours. Hop in back."

Marc grabbed her arm and dragged Deanne with him to the back of the cart to hoist her in. Once he'd given up their fare, his anger seemed to dissipate a little. He wasn't muttering to himself or huffing under his breath. He just sat rigidly but quietly beside her. Deanne took that to be a good sign.

She wished she were a little less of a burden. If she could help him some and contribute more then that might not put so much stress on him, which might at least shrink the gap between them a little. If he stayed at the College with her then she was going to make some changes: do more for him and require less caring for. She wasn't a little girl anymore. She had to start learning such things.

This was the first time she actually hoped that that her burden was what made him so sullen. Deanne did so want her brother to be happy, and it truly pained her that she might be the obstacle to him achieving that. But at least, now that she knew the cause, she could do something about it. Yes, she did hope that she was the cause. Otherwise, she would be back to square one, only guessing how to make him happy when Marc refused to share anything with her.

Over the next couple of hours a few more people came for passage. There were a some shipments going to Windhelm and some people as well. By the time they started, their traveling group was about the size it had been when the other cart had arrived at Whiterun, although with entirely different people.

When they started on their way, the sun's warmth was creeping up the back of her head. They rode in silence for the most part, Deanne clutching her pack close and Marc remaining particularly quiet, as if in deep thought. Again, Deanne took this an improvement. The whole journey up until now, he'd made a point to keep his distance from her. Now he was seated right next to her without fidgeting or purposefully ignoring her existence. The young woman tried not to smile that he stayed beside her. She didn't want anything to scare off this fragile atmosphere that had formed around them.

An hour or so into their travel, after the cart had passed over a rushing river, Marc abruptly pulled his pack open and started riffling through it. He sat up with a harsh grunt and said, "My papers are gone."

"Gone?"

"I must have left them somewhere. I have to go back and get them."

Deanne reached out and took his arm hurriedly. "Now? We didn't even go into the city."

"Then I must have left them in Riverwood at the inn."

"Riverwood? That's a day away!"

"I know that," he told her. "But I need those papers. You know how important they are."

Deanne swallowed and tried to draw up her courage. "Ok…" All the way back to Riverwood? "…Ok, let's go back and look for them."

"I can move faster on my own," Marc said. "And I already gave that gold to the driver. I'll go back and find my papers. You stay here."

"Alone?!" She hadn't been left alone in a strange place in so long. And this wasn't Skingrad. This was the middle of a strange province that she already felt was too big. "Can't we just go to Winterhold and get replacements from there. I still have my papers in my pack. Won't they work for both of us?"

"I'm not shoeing out another septim for this trip. And your papers only have _your_ name on them. I can't go _anywhere_ without mine." It sounded like he was talking about more than just within the province. He stood up and pulled his arm out of her grasp. "Don't be a child, Deanne. Just stay in the cart. This thing moves so slow I'll catch it no problem."

He plodded down the cart, around peoples feet and bags, and dropped off onto the dirt road with a crunch of the gravel.

Deanne leaned over the cart's edge and yelled, "Be careful!"

Marc didn't reply as he set off back the way they'd come. Deanne could only sit back down in her seat and try to remain calm. It helped to think about something other than the fact that she was alone amongst strangers, like the travel Marc was going to do.

Whiterun was a few hours away. The cart was moving a little faster than walking speed and keeping to the road. Marc could cut across country and catch up after he'd found his papers. It all depended on where he'd left them.

But what if something caught _him_? What if he ran into a saber cat or a giant? Suddenly that adventurer's stories were no longer intriguing, but terrifying.

Deanne hugged her belongings closer and started praying for his safety. She could remember every prayer she'd ever heard at the temple and recited them all in her mind. She hoped it did more than just pass the time. And all the while, she listened for Marc's return over the roll of the wheels and the conversation happening between the other riders.

The air grew cold as they pulled northward and colder still as evening fell. The cart bucked slightly as the driver pulled it off the road and brought it to a halt.

"Alright folks, pile out. We'll camp here before we cross the snowline."

Deanne stiffened, half glad and half frightened. The day had passed already? And Marc had yet to appear. But at least they had stopped. He'd better be able to catch up if they weren't moving.

As people disembarked to make camp, Deanne tried to get the driver's attention. It was hard. She wasn't used to talking to people. Her voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

"E-excuse me."

He spoke more kindly to her than he had to her brother's antagonism. "Aye, lass."

She had to swallow before she could form more words. "C-could I stay in the cart…please?"

"Sure thing, lass," he said pleasantly. "Although we'll have a fire going soon enough. It'll be warmer."

"Thank you," she replied. "But…I'd rather just stay up here."

He gave a sound of relenting and went to unhitch the horses and talk to their hired guards about watch duty.

Deanne, meanwhile, rearranged some of the bags still in the cart and laid her sleeping pallet out at the back of the cart. Without Marc here, she wanted to make sure that she didn't miss the cart leaving. The driver seemed nice enough to her, but she didn't want to take the chance that she be forgotten. Now that she had to take care of herself for a while, it was just better to be overly cautious about this kind of thing.

She ate as little of her foodstuffs as could quiet the pangs of her hunger and lay down to sleep. The rest itself was a little fitful, but it lasted through the night.

She woke to the camp's waking: people talking, pots clanking, armor being put on. Deanne rolled up her pallet quickly and was seated for travel before the horses were even hitched up. But once they were and people started getting up into the cart, Deane began to get nervous.

She sat up and addressed the driver. "Ha-has my brother come back yet?" Given his tendencies, Marc's first priority might not have been to make himself known to her if he had.

"Sorry, lass. Not yet."

Deanne hesitated, then dared to ask, "Could we…stay a bit longer?"

The man adjusted some things in the back. "No can do. We've got limited sunlight. And with bandits on the road, the longer we stay in one place the better chance we have of being set on. Gotta get going."

"But…" Her voice faded as her fears choked her up.

"Look, lass, we've got a transaction here. With the fifty gold I've got, I swear I'll get you to Winterhold. But we're not waiting on your brother." With that he have a last yell to their guards and then flicked the reins and set the cart forward and back onto the road.

Deanne felt torn. She turned in her seat back down the road, but clutched the side rail for dear life. He probably reached Riverwood last night and found his papers. He could catch up today, or tomorrow. There was still time.

But she was also worried for him. He was one man on the road, no guards or people to look out for him. What if bandits decided he was a better target than the cart? What if he was attacked and left on the road somewhere? What if he already had been? Who would find him? He didn't have anyone. And now, neither did she.

Deanne's confliction mounted. Part of her wanted to go after him. If something had happened to Marc, she had to be there for him. That was what family did.

But if he was out there, how would she find him? How would she take care of him? What if she got lost herself? What if something happened to her in pursuit of him? What if she was worrying for nothing and Marc came back to the cart to find her gone and had to backtrack to find and help _her_?

But staying… It was cowardly. Her best chance was in the cart. The driver had said he would get her to Winterhold, but that was just because of the money. Yes, if she went after Marc, she would be alone for the task. But once she found him, it would be her and her brother. Not her and a stranger.

And if she _didn't_ go after him, what kind of a sister did that make her? They were family. They were supposed to stick together and look out for one another.

But the world was so big. And she'd never been out on her own in the way she was now contemplating. Chances were slim that she could find her way at all, let alone find Marc.

Deanne sat there on the edge of the bench, her spine craned toward the back of the cart and her hand gripping the side rail until her fingers hurt, wanting to go but being terrified of doing it. And in the end…she couldn't do it. Deanne slowly withdrew from the edge of the bench until her back was to the wooden siding. She couldn't do it. The world was just too big for her to face it like that on her own.

And Marc?

Marc knew how to take care of himself while she did not. He could travel alone as she would never be able to. He knew magic. He knew the province, at least in writing. If anyone was better off going it alone, it was him. Her brother would have a much better chance of getting to her than she had of getting to him.

He would be back. She just needed to be patient and have faith.

He'd be back.

He would…

**I hope you liked it. I've got a few more chapter saved up, but I'll wait until next weekend before I post again...just to make you lot suffer. Muahahahaha!**


	5. The Cart and the Cave

**Yippee! My beta returns. So you lot get the next chapter! Woohooo!**

The cart stopped about midday to water and feed the horses. The other people got out, groaning in exaggerated relief and stretching their legs. Deanne didn't want to move. Stay with the cart. Marc had said to 'stay with the cart'.

The driver spoke up to her once everyone else had disembarked. "You wanna step out for a bit, lass?"

She shook her head silently. Stay with the cart. Marc had to come back soon. And when he did, Deanne would be exactly where he'd left her.

Without other people around, Deanne felt the pressure of their eyes lift. She didn't have anyone to keep up the appearance of strength for. It was hard to keep up an appearance of calm and strength when there was so much turmoil inside. And absent that pressure, she felt her eyelids drooped. All the tension of waiting expectantly for Marc and the restless sleep from last night… She was more exhausted now than she'd ever been. Maybe she could get a little rest now. After debating it, Deanne decided to curl up underneath the bench. They'd crossed the 'snow line' earlier in the day and she still felt the chilly kiss of each flake on her skin. She'd curl up under here to keep from being snowed upon.

Deanne lowered herself to the cart floor and wiggled under the bench. Doubtless she would look silly to the other riders, but she didn't care much right now. Although, after she'd gotten settled with her head on her precious pack, sleep was slow in coming. The young woman let her mind drift and her ears opened to the activity around the cart.

"We don't have to rush today. Nightgate Inn's a few hours away. We'll need a full day tomorrow to get to Windhelm. For those of you who want to, we're doubling back, then north for Winterhold after that—"

"_Aaaah_—!"

A sudden shriek was cut off just as abruptly. Someone hit the snow and Deanne was wide awake.

"Take cover! We're under attack!"

Swords cleared sheathes and people ran for cover all around the cart. Battle cries closed in from all directions. Deanne heard a hard thunk in the wood above her. Arrows? She drove herself deeper into the corner under the bench. A terrible commotion rose up out beyond her refuge. There was fighting. And dying! She heard the driver yell in horror and then cease to make sound, a frightening thud acting as punctuation to his speech.

The only thing Deanne could think to do was hide. She reached out from under the bench and grabbed whatever came to her hand: bags, boxes, cloth. She pulled all of it toward her and around her, anything to hide her from view. What else could she do? She couldn't fight. Even with people dying all around her, she could only think to hide.

Deanne curled up tighter, barely breathing as she listened to the battle. Yells became guttural and strangled. Battle cries increased in pitch to those of victory. She didn't even know what to feel because she didn't know who was winning.

Gradually the fighting faded, and that was when Deanne's heart sank. The sounds of congratulation around the cart were not the voices she'd heard over the last few days.

"Load 'em up! Let's take the lot and get this off the road. We'll pick 'em clean back at the hideout."

Oh no…

The strangers moved around the area quickly. There was exertion and the cart jolted as something landed in it. Then again. Deanne closed her eyes and clamped a hand over her mouth. She didn't want to know what they were loading. Shortly after the loading stopped, her stomach was lurched as the cart started forward. Deanne held the contents of her stomach down as she was bumped over rough terrain, the sounds of the bandits all around her talking and complaining in rough rural tones. Oh no, oh no, oh no!

She couldn't think. Her mind was just a blur of fear. What did she do? What _could_ she do?! There was no way out. If she tried to get out of the cart, they'd see her. If she didn't… Where were they going? What was going to happen to her when they got there?!

Deanne stayed curled in place, frozen stiff, terrified lest the slightest sound or movement reveal her while the sounds of the bandits surrounding the cart further entrapped her. The fear did not even thaw when the air around them became abruptly warm and the sounds of the cart echoed back from newly appeared walls. If anything, the fear became worse until her heart threatened to pound straight out of her chest.

The cart rolled to a halt. The young woman's petrified mind yielded the slightest hint toward escape. Maybe, if she waited until they all fell asleep, she might have a chance… But how would she get out of their hideout? Where was the door? And where would she go once she got outside?

The horses! If she could somehow find one and get on. She'd heard that horses returned to their stables when set loose. If she rode one out of the cave and then let it pick its path, then it would take her back to its home. There would be people there. People who might help her!

"Nice haul," a new, particularly gruff voice remarked. "…for an amateur. Do these even look like wealthy folk to you?"

"Hey, we saw guards. Means there's got to be something worth guarding, right?"

"Whatever. Get 'em unloaded and stripped before they start to smell."

Deanne shivered. No, no, no! They were going to unload the cart. If they moved any of the bags she'd surrounded herself with, they'd see her. But she didn't dare try to secure her hiding place. Or attain any other. Especially not when the cart itself tipped slightly with the mounting of a living body into the back. The cart shifted again, a weight was lifted and Deanne flinched when it hit the ground with a soft thud. She didn't dare let herself imagine what it was, but one did not 'strip' sacks and bags.

"Spare the rod, why don't you!"

"Hey, I heard 'better dead than alive'."

The horses were unhitched and led away, snorting disagreeably at what the bandits were piling up. Deanne tried to keep track of the direction they were being taken. Those horses were her only hope of escaping this. She couldn't lose track of them.

So focused was she on where they were going, when her ankle was grabbed a fraction of her pent up terror erupted from her mouth before she could stop it.

"We've got a live one here!"

Deanne failed to kick herself loose before she was dragged all the way out from her hiding place and dumped onto the ground. She tried to stand, but found too irregular of a brace on the cold bodies that had only hours before sat living on the cart benches with her.

Someone grabbed her arm hard and hauled her to her feet. She immediately tried to wrench herself free, digging at the hand with her fingers, yanking with all her strength.

"And she is kicking," her captor remarked, as though he were pleased.

Deanne kept up her attempts at escape, not knowing what else to do.

"Give her here!" someone else yelled.

Her shoulder was almost popped out of joint when her captor wrenched back on her futile attempts. His hands clapped around her shoulders, then she was shoved forward into another waiting pair of arms. This one grabbed her just as tight and Deanne shrieked when he proceeded to run his tongue up her neck.

Deanne was tossed from person to person, each one of them grasping and fondling her, and ripping her clothing before pushing her off to the next one who yelled for her. She had no chance to gain her own feet amidst the shoving and was left utterly to their mercy. Or lack thereof. And all the while the bandits laughed and caterwauled as though they found sport in torturing her.

Her careening was halted by a solid wall of armor that planted itself in her path. It wasn't out of kindness. The grip he took on her arm was hard enough to bruise.

"Alright, knock it off and get back to work. All of you!"

A chorus of disappointed dissent swelled up all around her.

"Come on, we only just got started."

"And you'll keep going 'till it's done. If you think you'll get any tail for this sorry job, you've got ice in your brains."

Deanne was dragged off by the one who seemed to be their leader. He took her away from the other bandits and up a wooden ramp onto an elevated platform.

All the way Deanne struggled against his hold, begging, "Let me go! Let me go! Please!"

"Well, since you asked so nice." He yanked her forward and threw her onto a hard wooden frame overlain with furs. A bed. There was a light plink of leather and metal as he undid his belt behind her, saying smugly, "The perks o' bein' the boss."

Deanne rushed to stand, but he caught her and threw her back. "Stay down! You do good here, maybe I'll keep you a while before I give you back the rabble."

"No, no!"

She turned and tried to get over the bed and away to the other side. He grabbed her ankle and dragged her back. Then he was on top of her. She fought him, trying to get her fingernails into his face, but to no avail. He caught her wrists easily and pinned them over her head. His free hand started tearing the rest of the way through her clothing. Deanne had been dressed in most of her warm winter wear when the cart had been attacked. It was the only reason she still had anything between herself and him after what his band had done below.

Deanne struggled in every way she could, writhing in his grip and thrashing her legs in an attempt to deal any damage she could, and screaming for him to stop.

The platform was elevated but open. Her screams filled the cavern and so did the jabs from the bandits.

"Sounds like she's a screamer!"

"Havin' a little trouble there, _boss_? Can't handle one little Imperial?"

Deanne got one leg free when her assailant went to pull off her leggings and kicked him as hard as she could. She hit something and he cursed loud. Her victory was short lived as the man backhanded her across her face. Before the pain even faded from her, he flipped her over and all his weight went to holding her down on the bedframe.

He snarled at her, "I gave you the chance to do this civil."

Her struggles were greatly reduced without any leverage to either escape or hurt him. But she didn't stop screaming. Not even when the cold air reached the skin of her upper leg. If anything, her volume increased.

"Keep it down, you skeever turds! I'm tryin' to focus here!"

Deanne didn't even realize hers weren't the only screams echoing into the chamber until they rose to match her own.

On top of her, the bandit leader roared, "I told you lot to—_What in Oblivion is that_!?"

Amidst the alarmed yells of the bandits, something barreled into the chamber, roaring like a feral beast. But that wasn't Deanne's immediate focus. The instant her assailant loosened his grip, Deanne writhed a leg free and kicked out with more accuracy. She struck his abdomen with her heel and it earned her a grunt of pain and a further lessening of his weight. The man hauled her up and threw her down on the ground. Her head struck the side of the bedframe enough to daze her, but she heard him grab something heavy from nearby and leap down the ramp he'd dragged her up, shouting orders.

Those orders were almost completely drowned out by what was happening below. It was worse than the attack of the cart. Something was tearing through the chamber and through everyone in it. Something big whose roars did not mask the destruction it wrought. Flesh was torn and bones broken, a sickening combination of wet ripping and cracks like lightening that bounced off the walls. Men screamed until they were torn apart by the monster that had come into their midst, any attack or defense going to waste.

When Deanne recovered her thoughts, her first was to crawl beneath the bed and hide from what was happening below. She kept going until she reached the wall and curled up there as small as she could. The woman shut her eyes and wrapped her hands over her ears. But there was no escaping the sounds of death that told her far too much about what was bringing the end to bandits.

The massacre didn't last long. And when it was over, only the creature remained. Any relief Deanne might have felt at being saved from the bandits were quickly eclipsed by the fact that she was now left alone with what had destroyed them.

She listened and heard it moving about beneath the platform. There was chewing and snapping of bones as it ate to satiation of its victims. Deanne tried desperately to control her breathing and stay absolutely silent. She didn't know what that thing was. Only that she did not want it to find her and do what it had done to those bandits.

The creature finished with its meal and sniffed around. The woman kept a hand over her mouth and her eyes shut as she heard to its movement below. It roamed about, investigating its surroundings. There was a pause. Than it sniffed more pointedly. Deanne heard it draw nearer the platform.

She was able to stifle herself when it suddenly leapt up, slamming against the platform's frame and clawed its way over the railing and onto the elevated level. Deanne curled tighter and held her mouth shut, not daring even to swallow. The wood reverberated with the thing's heavy footsteps. The woman's heartbeat concussed within her ribcage ever faster as the thing came nearer her hiding place.

She heard it pace around the bedframe, the sniffing marking every second of its approach. Then the bedframe jumped as it was struck. Deanne bottled down a shriek similar to the one that had given her away to the bandits and curled tighter against the wall. She even went so far as to reach up and hold onto the bedframe, as if her meager strength might keep it in place.

In the next instant the bedframe was gone, lifted in one colossal move and flung more than a body length away as if it were nothing but a small stool, leaving her utterly exposed. Deanne huddled where she was, curling herself tight and squeezing her eyes shut as her heartbeat raced out of control. The creature bent over her, a frightful sound growing from its throat and the smell of death pouring from its maw as it breathed.

Deanne quacked in indescribable terror where she lay. Her face flushed, her ears rang, her head became light. Skyrim suddenly felt too hot to bear. All of her senses began swimming, then rose as one to consume her. In Deanne's last seconds of consciousness, she gave thanks to the Gods that she would not be awake to experience her own death.

**Wow...intense... See you guys next week. Hopefully Deanne will survive that long.**


	6. My Savior

**I tried! I swear, I did! But these chapters are not going to stay short. Not this one. But the next chapter (now written) is longer. And I anticipate the chapter after being longer still. As it turned out, I am a novelist at heart. I can't keep to these little chapters with the kind of stories that go through my head. Just giving you a fair warning.**

**So, now that I've finished my update on things to come, read on. I left you hanging fair enough last chapter. XD**

When Deanne woke, she was warm almost to the point of perspiring. And when she shifted, it hard to move at all, as if the heavy blanket of sleep was tangible and laid over her.

But her movement stirred something. At her back there was a masculine sound of slumber. An arm, previously draped over her, conformed to her waist and the substantial upper body that inhibited her movements rolled forward, further pinning her beneath its weight.

Consciousness came to her completely and instantaneously, and Deanne froze. The memories of the night before, of the bandits grasping and grabbing at her, leapt to the front of her mind. She still wore what remained of her clothes. But that didn't mean someone hadn't…_used_ her when she was unaware.

Deanne inched slowly away from the man lying against her. In the process she realized that he wasn't wearing any clothes…at all. Her blood ran cold. What had happened to her? What had he _done_ to her?

She was almost free when the man stirred again. His arm laced further around her waist, pulling her back and he shifted himself close, nuzzling into the base of her neck and mumbling, "Wher'r yoo goin'?"

Deanne's covert escape turned desperate. She threw her arms forward and tried to squirm free, kicking her heals against the ground to get away from him. The young woman threw a foot back catching him somewhere, and hard enough that he grunted and snapped his arm back from her to ease the pain she'd caused. Deanne scrambled away, getting to her feet and rushing forward. The wooden railing of the platform met her midsection within a few steps, knocking the breath out of her in return for her haste.

Behind her, the man was…laughing? It was a light chuckle, but she heard it clearly in the otherwise silent cave.

"You almost got me there."

'Almost' got him. She hadn't hurt him. Not one bit.

Deanne took what account of the room she could and then dashed along the rail toward the wooden ramp. Her foot caught along the way and she tumbled down, her rush once again paid with pain and impediments.

Deanne heard the man gain his feet. "Hey, hang on there."

She turned quickly onto her side, preparing to kick out when he came close enough. It seemed the only defense she was capable of. That, and begging, "Please, don't hurt me! _Please_!"

He stopped. "Hurt you? I wouldn't—Shor's bones!" He backed away a step and became insistent. "I didn't mean—! This isn't—! I know what it looks like, but I swear, I would never take advantage."

He spun away from her and searched hurriedly, his steps awkward. A couple of drawers later he pulled free a cloth garment and struggled with it for a moment. In that time, Deanne was able to stand again and tried to make it the rest of the way along the rail to escape. But she took too long and when he turned about she halted in place, fearing he might set upon her if he saw her trying to run.

"Sorry, little one. That couldn't have been a welcome waking. But I swear, I did nothing unseemly to you."

The silence hung heavily between them. He made no movement toward her, but that didn't keep her knees from quacking. Especially with the cold of the chamber creeping between the tears in her clothes, reminding her of the state she was in.

"What do you want?!" she almost shrieked.

He didn't seem to have an answer. Or at least she thought that was why, instead of answering the question, he said, "I'm not going to hurt you, little one. See? No weapon. And that was…I can't really explain, but it didn't have anything to do with you, alright?"

The air between them became heavy again. Her knees continued to shake and she had to hold onto the railing to keep from crumpling to the ground.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sounding like he actually cared about the answer.

But the answer was 'no'. No, she wasn't alright. Everything had gone horribly, horribly wrong! This trip, the cart and the attack. She didn't know what to do! And she was alone. Completely alone!

Deanne gasped for breath as the panic set in. And every breath of air tasted like death. Her last memories of consciousness returned. "There's something here! It—it killed everyone! I heard it! It could still be here!"

"Hey, hey, take it easy," the man said quickly. "It's just me here."

"NO! It was here! I heard it!" The tearing of people limb from limb. Its jaws cracking bone as it consumed the bodies of its victims. The sound and smell of its breath when it found her. It _found_ her! "It was here! Right here! It—"

"Hey. Hey! Look at me. It's not here. There's nothing here. Nothing but me, alright."

No, it wasn't alright! _It wasn't alright_!

The panic provided fuel for its own flame, sending her mind spiraling out of control. A pair of strong hands clapped around her shoulders and she recoiled, feeling the bandits' hands all over again. She struggled erratically, trying to get loose. But he wouldn't her go.

"Take it easy. Take it easy. It's alright. Nothing's going to hurt you. Do you hear me? Nothing is going to hurt you."

The bandits manhandling her! The bandits tearing at her clothing! The leader mounting her like—!

She fought against his grip. Anything to get away! Far from giving her space, he dragged her against him and wrapped his arms around her. Deanne went mad. She seized and convulsed, thrashing wildly, her screams filling the chamber. The bandits! The killing! The monster! Too much! _Too much_!

There was no telling how long she fought. It felt like an eternity that she spent on the brink of insanity without any way to escape it, her body beyond her control. And when her strength was spent, it vanished in an instant leaving her weak as a lamb. Deanne couldn't make her legs hold her. She couldn't do anything but go limp and weep.

The man, resilient before her emotional break, waited until she stopped fighting and then lowered them both slowly to the ground, never letting go of her. His arms, previously a restraint, proved a twisted sort of support now. In her mind, she couldn't separate him from the bandits, but she didn't have any fight left in her. She was just too spent after everything that had happened. So she cried against his bare chest, unable to resist whatever he chose to do to her next.

For the time being, he chose to hold onto her and nothing else. When he did finally move, she was little more than a doll for his manipulation. And yet he set her down to sit somewhat comfortably atop her own legs. Then he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his hand.

"Easy there. You're alright. There's nothing here to hurt you. You're alright." Deanne didn't have the strength to argue that point.

A little breath was granted to her. Enough to ask, "What…what are you going…to do to me?"

"I'm not going to do anything to you," he insisted. She didn't even have the strength to believe or disbelieve him. "Poor thing," he murmured. The man had to repeat his work when fresh tears charted new paths down her cheeks. "Can't believe there are still _wretches_ in the world that would do this." He said it so fiercely that a surge of fear ran through her. He seemed to notice and softened his tone, repeating, "But you're alright now. You're alright."

He kept saying that as though it would make it so. But it wouldn't. Her father was gone. Her brother was gone. The driver and everyone in the cart was gone. She was alone. Completely and truly alone in this world of strangers and monsters, and nothing could make that alright.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

Her name?

Something about that question put ground beneath her feet. No one had asked her name since before she'd come into Skyrim. Since before she'd left Skingrad.

"…Deanne."

"That is a beautiful name," he commented. "Can you stand up, Deanne?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. Ground beneath her feet did not mean strength. Although…hearing her name from someone other than Marc… It helped.

"Alright then. I'm going to pick you up. But just for a moment. We'll get you to that chair so you can sit down properly. Understand?" Her nod was slow in coming and he took action unhurriedly after she had, like he knew how fragile her state of mind was at this moment.

Admittedly, there was a little burst of panic when his arms closed around her again. But she was airborne, moved and set down before that panic could build enough to cause a reaction. And the chair itself was a welcome solidity when she herself felt as solid as vapor before the wind. Even just curling her fingers around the bottom of the seat made her feel better and made it easier to breath.

She still flinched away when the man touched her forehead with a damp cloth.

"You've got a bit of a bump. I'm just going to clean it." Deanne didn't have the strength to stand on her own. So she had little choice other than to succumb to his ministering.

He was gentle. He didn't crowd her. Deanne kept waiting for him to do something to her. To touch her or take hold of her clothes or…anything. But he didn't. He just kept his distance and tended her hurts.

She couldn't take the suspense of waiting for him to do something heinous. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"I'm a Companion," he replied. "This _is_ what we do." He said it with purpose, but Deanne didn't understand what he meant.

He finished with the bump on her head. It didn't sting anymore and the ache was fading. Had he wetted the cloth with a healing potion? He moved to her cheek where the bandit had hit her, touching her chin with a single finger to angle her head so he could better reach the hurt, like he knew any more than one would be too much contact. The quiet stretched out around them while he worked. The rhythmic motions of the cloth across her skin were hypnotic, particularly since there was little else to focus on and little mental strength to focus with.

Her cheek had stopped hurting by the time he let the cloth drop. But he didn't move away.

"Deanne…" The sound of her name brought her back a little closer to the world. "Would you look at me a moment?"

The young woman turned toward him, wondering what other wound he'd seen. They held like that for a few seconds. Then his previously gentle tone took on an adamant inlay. "We need to get you to a healer. Right now. There's one in Whiterun at the temple. It's a day's journey. But I can carry you."

The man reached for her. The feel of his enclosing arms roused the panic like a persistent froth. Deanne's arms leapt up to fend him off before she could even think. "No, no! Don't touch me!"

"Listen to me. There's something wrong with your eyes. We need to get you to a healer—"

She didn't want him touching her. She didn't want anyone touching her! "No! Stop!"

"Deanne, your eyes are-"

"I've been blind since I was seven!"

Those words brought a halt to everything. The air, formerly heavy with silence, was now turned glacial by it. The wind across the distant cave entrance whistled. The fire of various torches crackled. But Deanne found herself counting the breaths of the man in front of her, and reading his thoughts in them.

One, shock.

Two, relief.

Three, the emotion she knew well, pity.

Deanne wanted to curl into herself and disappear. She hated telling anyone this. Her blindness had chained her ever since the accident that had caused her sight to flee. Chained within her home because she could not walk the streets without someone to cling to. Chained within the safe and the known because a single stone in the path could trip her up and a single wrong turn could leave her lost, even yards from her own front door. The world became too big for her once it had darkened.

She was an easy target and victim for anyone with ill intentions, and an object of pity for anyone with a good heart. They were good people, by and large, who pitied her. But that didn't mean she liked being looked at the way she knew they did. Quite the opposite: she hated it. It was one of the only negative emotions she could afford to harbor. When people learned she could not see, they pitied her and ever after would treat her differently. She became her detriment. And not even going to Skyrim could change that.

The arms that had been closing around her drew away, for which she could only be thankful, and the quiet stretched out.

"I'm sorry, little one."

A song she'd heard over and over again from anyone who met her and learned what she lacked. Deanne didn't like meeting new people. She didn't like hearing that same refrain again and again.

The man sat back, his feet shifting against the wood as he settled in front of her. And the silence of the cave became heavy again as they both tried to decide where to go from there.

She'd never been on her own before. Not like this. In Skingrad, Deanne was either at home or in the Temple. Anytime she wasn't, she was always on someone's arm. Usually her father's. And if she wasn't, it was comforting to know that as long as she was within the confines of the city walls, she wasn't truly far from home.

But out here? She couldn't wander the wide world on her own. Here, one step outside the cave entrance, she wouldn't know which way was East or North, whether she walked toward a mountain or a cliff. Now that there was snow, it would be too easy to lose a road. She didn't know how to fend for herself or defend herself. And Skyrim was cold and desolate. Out here, with no one to help her, she was going to die.

Those words rang in her mind and sparked to life a base desire she'd never had to call upon: the desire to survive. She had to survive.

"How far is it to Winterhold?"

The man spent several seconds measuring distances in his mind. "On foot? A few days. Depends on if you find the right pass."

Her head shot up and Deanne prayed she was looking straight at him. "Would you take me there?!"

"What?"

The young woman lurched forward. She found his shoulders and grabbed on as best she could. "Please!" She didn't want to die. But she would if she was left alone. If he left her alone! "Please! The College of Winterhold! I have to get there. Please!"

Deanne didn't know who he was. If he was a hunter or an adventurer. Or even if he was one of these bandits that had escape the monster. She didn't know and, at this instant, she didn't care. He was all she had. If she was left on her own, Deanne knew she would die out here. She needed someone to help her. And there was no one else than this man. She _needed_ him. He just _had_ to help her.

Her mind scrambled for something she could offer. "We paid the driver for passage. The bandits must have taken it, but it's got to be here." How much had it been? "Fifty gold. More, with the others. Take it! Just, please—!"

"Hey, hey." The man peeled her hands off his shoulders and took them in his. Deanne held on with a death grip, knowing she would perish if she lost him. "Just calm down," he urged her. "I'm not going to just leave you here. I would shame myself. I'll get you to Winterhold. I swear it."

Rather than leap with joy, Deanne's heart deflated in relief. But her hands stayed tightly around his to the point of shaking. More than that, he gripped his back, providing an anchor for her. The only contact Deanne could fathom being more precious than his hands was an embrace from her own father. And however much she wanted to be held right now, Deanne knew she wouldn't be able to handle something like that from a stranger. But his hands holding hers… The only words she could call up didn't seem nearly enough to express what she felt.

"Thank you…thank you…"

**WHAT!? Yeah, I decided on that juicy little trait when I first came up for the concept of this story. So? How many of you guessed? I'd love to know how many people I caught off guard. **

**And, for those of you who'd like to, go ahead and read back. I NEVER said a word about her 'seeing' anything. XP**


	7. The Kindness of a Stranger

**Ok, the first of the long chapters. Hopefully no longer holding to a 'below 3k' limit will NOT lead to these things getting wordy. Let me know. **

**And now that we've gotten through the intense chapter, let's bring things down a little, shall we? Can't have that kind of drama all the time. I don't think we could take it.**

She'd never listened so hard in her life. Her eardrums were actually hurting from the strain. Deanne couldn't lose track of him. The man had left her seated on the platform and was now moving around the cavern collecting supplies. The young Imperial tracked him by sound, in particular where he was relative to the cave entrance. He had promised to get her to Winterhold. But Deanne hadn't had much experience with strangers in her life, she was afraid to trust outright lest he decide she was too much trouble and leave.

He came back up the ramp and over to her. "I found your things," he said, then pressed a bag into her hands. Deanne took hold of it and ran her hands over the bundle, finding familiar stitching and that the ties were precisely how she'd left them. It had not been opened, either by the bandits or by her rescuer.

"How did you know it was mine?" she inquired.

"…I found your hiding place under the bench and that was there. At least I assume you were hiding there."

Deanne wound her fingers into the ties. Another step back to normal. This one being a physical tie to her life in Skingrad, before this nightmare had started. "Thank you."

"Look, I left my armor and such outside before…before I came in here. I've got to go get it if we're going to travel. I won't be gone long—"

Deanne jolted. He was leaving? "Will you come back?!"

She asked it too quickly and too fearfully. She knew she must have come off as desperate. Marc said it drove people off when she sounded like that. He'd usually tell her to stop acting like a child and then leave until she'd calmed down. She couldn't afford to drive this man away by being desperate, even if that was exactly what she was. _But what if he didn't come back?_

"Of course I'll come back," he assured her. Deanne's throat closed up and she pressed her lips together to avoid saying something erratic. The man knelt in front of her. "Deanne, I need my armor and weapons if I'm to do you any good out there. Besides," and he adjusted the bag slightly on her lap to draw attention to it, "while I'm gone you can change in private. What you have on now won't serve well out in the cold."

Deanne reached up self-consciously and tried to tug closed a tear that was hanging off her shoulder. Those bandits had ripped her clothing so much, it probably wouldn't serve at all without mending. And as for him retrieving his armor…

Marc had left. She'd trusted that he would return, and quickly. But now she wasn't even sure if she would see him again. And now this man was promising the same. She wanted to trust him too, but…

The man sighed. "Look, little one, why don't you change while I finish scavenging what I can around here. Then we'll go together."

Deanne looked up in near disbelief. He was going to take her with him? Just like that? Without her even asking? The woman didn't trust her voice, so she just nodded jerkily.

"Alright. I'll go below. You can change your clothes up here. I swear I won't look." Deanne hugged her pack until his footsteps had ceased to vibrate the wood of the platform.

He was going to take her with him. That never happened. Her brother never wanted to be her escort anywhere. And her father hadn't wanted Deanne out unless it was necessary, and certainly not to go somewhere in the unknown. She wasn't sure how to take this. His armor might be just outside. Or only a little way away. Or it could be miles away.

But that possibility raised another question: why would he go hunting or adventuring but leave his armor and weapon behind somewhere? No, it must be nearby. But why would he take his armor off outside at all? And how had he even gotten where and how he'd been when she'd woken?

The questions stacked up without any answers. More than wanting answers, Deanne did _not_ want to keep him waiting. She opened her pack and pulled out all the clothing that remained. It wasn't much. A few spare dresses and leggings. She'd been wearing most of her winter wear before on the cart. Regardless, she changed as fast as she could, crouching low in hopes she wouldn't tempt his gaze over toward the platform.

She did pause momentarily when she heard the plink of coins across the room. Her breath caught for a moment. She wondered if, now that he'd found the gold, he'd go back on his word to her.

But he didn't. There was no sound of him going toward the door, just more movement of cloth and such. Deanne hurried to finish changing.

She made a note to mend her clothes and tucked what remained of them into her bag. Then she stood up, found the rail, and leaned out. "I'm—I'm ready."

His footsteps approached and came up the ramp. "Dressed a little light for an Imperial, aren't you?"

Deanne suppressed a shiver as the cold cave air crept too quickly through the layers she'd gotten on, and tightened her grip on the rail for support. "This is all I have."

"Hm… Hang on." He went back down the ramp and over toward where he'd been making noise before. "I found a few things that might work. Can't have my charge catching her death out there. And it's not like their owners will have much use for them anymore." The last sentence was spoken more quietly, but she heard it all the same. And was actually glad she couldn't see the chamber and what remained of said 'owners'.

The young woman waited for him to…do whatever he was doing, leaning on the railing and tracking him by sound. He made it easy.

"College of Winterhold, huh? I take it you're a mage."

"No," she replied. "Well…I learned some Restoration from the priests in Skingrad. But that was mostly so I could help them with their healings. My father knew someone at the College. He wrote to him about us coming and staying there, and his friend said 'yes'."

"Us?" the man asked.

Deanne had to swallow before answering. "Me and my brother."

The movement below stopped. "…Was he here?"

"No." And thank the Divines he hadn't been. "He…he lost his papers before we got on the cart and went back to get them. I don't know where he is now."

The movement below resumed. "Well, you were both headed for the College. I'm sure you'll meet up there."

Deanne was shocked. Why hadn't she thought about that? Probably because she hadn't thought it was possible for her to get to Winterhold on her own. She'd just gotten used to operating in a world with a very small radius. And the events of yesterday didn't help.

"What about your father?"

Deanne had to swallow again. "I don't know. He's been ill for a while. The priests tried to help but… He said he wouldn't make the journey and he didn't want us to wait for him to…" She trailed off despite her wish to be strong in his memory.

"I'm sorry, little one."

It was strange. People usually sounded different when they were expressing sympathy for her blindness versus when they were expressing sympathy for something else. But he sounded just the same. Or maybe both her blindness and the circumstances with her father were so sad that he felt just the same about both.

The man came toward the platform and Deanne turned face him when he came up the ramp. "This oughta help." He dropped a heavy bundle of fabric on the ground, then retrieved a portion of it. "Lift your hands up to the ceiling."

Deanne complied hesitantly as he shuffled with the fabric. She went tense when he took a hold of her hands, at least until he worked the cuffs of the sleeves over her wrists. The rest of the garment fell over her head and he helped her to pull it into proper place. It was large on her, especially in the shoulders and arms, but it fit alright over her other clothing alright.

"And again." She put her hands up and received another garment, pulling it into place like the first. "And straight out to the sides this time." He wrapped her up in a robe two sizes too big, but of heavy fabric. He draped a stretch of fabric around her shoulders next and then wrapped it into a hood about her head. "And one more." This one was a cloak that was draped over her shoulders and easily hit the floor around her. "There. Better?" he asked, sounding satisfied.

Deanne nodded, shifting from foot to foot. She felt twice as heavy. But, with all this heavy fabric, she might actually be. The long hems would make it harder to walk, the sleeves of her outer garment hung past her fingertips while the hem and cloak dragged on the ground. But it was better than freezing in the snow. Would anyone even guess there was a person under all this?

The man lifted the edge of her hood. "You in there, little one?"

Deanne didn't know if it was a joke or not. She tried to pull her uncertainties under wraps and replied, "Yes, I'm here."

"Alright then." He trotted down the ramp, collected something else from below and came back up just as quickly. "The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll get there. You ready?"

"I…I think so." She had her bag, some supplies. He had more. But, how was this going to work? She could hardly walk under all this. But the idea of him carrying her, of having his arms around her, still stirred put a tremor in her stomach.

The man reached down and picked up her bag, securing it on his back along with the other. Then he turned around and knelt down where he was, speaking to her over his shoulder. "Alright, I'm right in front of you. Just step forward, put your arms over my shoulders and lean against me."

Deanne swallowed and put her hands out. It took a couple of shuffled steps before she found him, a mountain of muscle. Were all Skyrim men this big? She leaned against him as he said until her arms were just over his shoulders, feeling a little uncomfortable with the proximity.

"Now lift your right foot and step up on my leg."

She did so, fishing a little before she found the brace on his thigh. The extra-large clothes added an extra difficulty.

And Deanne went rigid when he reached back and put his hand under her backside. Before she could think, he did the same with the other hand and stood up, taking her feet off the ground and hefting her weight more securely between his shoulder blades and atop their packs. Maybe it was good he did it with little warning, because Deanne didn't have the chance to think his actions through and start struggling to get loose. Instead, she was frozen on his back like a frightened deer, barely containing another erratic mental break at being trapped against another strange man.

He gave her a couple of seconds to process before asking, "You alright, little one?"

She wanted to say 'yes'. To be strong, not desperate, and accept the help he was offering. But she wanted so much to say 'no'. To get back on the ground and away from this stranger who could do whatever he cared to with her at any time because she was powerless by comparison! He was enormous, and she was small. She didn't have a chance of stopping him if he decided to—

Deanne trembled and did her best to contain her hysterics. She could do this. She _had_ to do this. It was her only choice, or she'd have to figure out how to survive on her own and fast. Faster than she was capable.

She held off the fear, forcing her mind to go back farther than yesterday. Back to when she was still small enough that her father could carry her. Back to her first days of darkness, when he would carry her about on his back, just like this.

It took some doing. But she found the clearest memory of him and pulled it forth. This wasn't a position of entrapment, this was one of protection. She wasn't being trapped, she was being cared for. That was why this man held her tight. That was why her father had held her tight. Not to keep her from getting away, but to keep her from falling and getting hurt or lost.

Deanne focused on connecting that past with this present and, little by little, forced the tension out of her body. Not all of it, but some. "Yes…I'm alright." She forced the queasy feeling in her stomach to the back of her mind and made an effort to breath deeply. "…Thank you."

He hadn't moved a muscle while she recalibrated her mind, but now he turned, padded down the ramp and toward the whistling cave entrance. "Alright then."

The instant they left the cave Deanne felt the icy wind blast against her, sending snowflakes slicing against her cheeks and frigid tendrils of cold seeking the seams of her clothing. She dropped her head, the hood guarding her face, and pressed her cheek to the man's shoulder. This was the Skyrim she'd always heard about. And she was all too grateful that he'd gone out of his way to collect the extra clothes for her.

She remembered something. "There were horses…" How had she forgotten them?

Her escort paused, then cleared his throat slightly. "Must've run off." He cleared his throat again and said more directly, "Keep your hood up. And try not to choke me. We'll be to Winterhold in no time."

Deanne held onto his broad shoulders rather than throttle him about the neck, letting the long sleeves of her garments dangle to protect her fingers a bit from the icy that had whipped up since the day before. And, like that, the man bore her out into the world.

XXX

They traveled for about an hour before her escort slowed down and started to look more at his surroundings. He altered their route a little and the wind was soon cut by a guard of trees. Soon after he went from a jog to a walk and finally a complete stop.

"Here we are." He braced and knelt down, releasing his hands from under her so she could get off. The snow was thin under her feet, the mulch it covered cracking as she put her weight on it. He took her arm gently and urged her in a particular direction. "You can sit here while I get this stuff on." He got her to a tree trunk beneath which there was little snow and let her descend to a sitting position. "And you probably haven't eaten anything in a while, huh?"

"…Not really." Not since the previous day, or so. Not that she really noticed.

"Here." He dropped the packs next to her and opened one, tearing a loaf of bread apart and putting a substantial piece into her hands. "I won't be long. Then we'll get going." He paced off and there was soon a sound of metal and leather being arranged and donned.

Deanne sat where she was, fingering the bread without eating. She wasn't hungry. In truth, she didn't feel much of anything. Her mind was adrift, as well as her body: just being carried along through the world without any control over anything. She'd felt in control at home: a finite space with finite things to keep track of. But that had been a ruse as well, hadn't it? The world had been outside the door all along. Pretending it wasn't there hadn't made it go away. Pretending their little shack was all there was hadn't made the world any smaller. And now that she was out here, Deanne was completely unprepared.

She felt her eyes grow hot and the tears approach. They came even faster when she realized how easily this happened to her in instances of emotion. Was this what she was? A helpless little blind girl who hid from the world and cried at a moment's notice? Was this what Marc always saw? Was that why he so disliked her? She couldn't blame him. Especially not now. She couldn't do _anything_.

Anyone else her age could take care of themselves. But Deanne? She was still as dependent on her father as she'd been as a child. All those years, and what had she learned about the world? About taking care of herself? How had she prepared for the day when her father would no longer be there? She hadn't! He'd taken care of her and she'd let him. Deanne had only started going to the market alone when her father had become bedridden in the last month or so, and then only when Marc could not. Was that truly the only preparation for adulthood she had made? Was that the only steps she'd taken toward any kind of self-sufficiency?

The man's footsteps crunched in the snow as he came over and sat down beside her. "You alright, little one?"

Deanne opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say and closed it again. It was clear enough now useless she was, why burden him with her own self-doubt on the matter?

"You should eat," he said, retrieving what must have been the rest of the loaf and biting into it.

Her fingers twitched and she was almost surprised to find the bread still in her hands. "I'm not hungry."

"Eat anyway."

The command in his voice was enough to make her bring the loaf to her mouth. It's taste and texture was like carded wool. But that was more her fault than the bread's. Still, she made the effort to finish it.

The man reclined back against the tree. When he spoke, it told her he was faced out toward the direction they'd come. "Winterhold's probably two days away if we push. But that's mountain trekking all the way. Not the kind of thing you want to rush. Dawnstar's closer at this point. Better if we go there first. Get a proper meal and proper rest. Then make for Winterhold. I'm not a fan of the northern coast in the summer, particularly not near the icecaps. You never know when something'll break off. But if we keep up on the tundra it should be alright."

Deanne didn't know what a tundra or an icecap was, not that she would be able to contribute anything if she did. But he seemed to know what he was talking about.

His voice turned toward her. "You alright?" he asked again.

Deanne's mouth opened and closed a second time. What was she supposed to say?

"I've never been a mind reader, little one. And I'd rather know if something's amiss before we start off."

She struggled to find the words without just laying her problems on him. He had enough to deal with just transporting her as he was.

"I'm sorry I'm such a burden." Deanne wasn't even sure if he'd heard her, she'd spoken so softly. And even if it was an obvious weakness, it still proved exceptionally difficult to say and exceptionally painful to speak aloud.

But he did hear. "Not like you can help it, little one," he replied. "The blindness wasn't your doing, was it?"

She shook her head, feeling her movement muffled by both the cloth and the heated pressure of the tears she was trying to keep from escaping.

"How did it happen anyway?"

"I… It was an accident. My brother took me exploring outside Skingrad. He ran ahead. I tried to catch up and I fell into a little gully and hit my head. When I woke up… I didn't even know anything was wrong, except that my head hurt. I was out there all night. Father and some others came looking for me." The pressure behind her eyes increased. "After they found me, on the way home…I asked how they could see so well in the dark… I didn't even know the sun was coming up."

She reached up under her hood and wiped the tears away even as they spilled out. "Father took me to the temple right away, but the healers said they couldn't do anything. I…I remember they said if I'd been brought in sooner…" A little shock stopped her up as she came to a realization. "I don't think father ever forgave Marc for coming back without me."

_That_ was why they'd at odds for so long. But, coming to terms with her blindness at first, Deanne hadn't spared enough attention to notice. She'd been too wrapped up in her own problems. She'd just assumed Marc had kept out of the house for the same reason he hadn't wanted to take her along exploring: because he was adventurous and didn't want to be held up by his little sister. And then he'd left for the capital and she'd seen nothing of him for such a long time. No wonder he disliked her so much.

"Marc's your brother?"

Deanne nodded. That was why he'd stayed away from the house. Why he'd taken off for the Arcane University the first chance he got. And why he'd grown so bitter since coming home. She really _was _the cause of his unhappiness.

The man leaned back against the tree. "Can't say I'd have forgiven him either. Especially considering what came of it. But, then again, my brother and I were fairly joined at the hip as pups. Couldn't separate us if you tried."

"You have a brother?" she asked.

"A twin. Farkas." He chuckled. "We're a proper pair, we are. Skjor, one of our shield-brothers, likes to say that my brother has the strength of Ysgramor and I've his smarts."

That sounded wonderful. Two siblings, ever together, bound by blood and choice. Deanne tried not to imagine how that might feel. It actually hurt to think about what she'd missed. "Who is Ysgramor?"

The man sat up. "You've never heard of Ysgramor and the Five Hundred?"

She shook her head.

"He's a legendary hero of Skyrim." Her escort heaved himself up off the ground. "I'll tell you about him while we travel. It'll pass the time."

Deanne took the prompting and stood up while he closed the bag and put both hers and his over his shoulders. Then he put his back to her and knelt so she could climb on again. It was a little less comfortable now that he was wearing armor, but the packs gave her some cushion and her own clothes a little insulation from the cold metal.

It wasn't until his first steps that she realized, "I never asked you your name." How could she have missed that? Especially after what he'd agreed to do for her.

There was a slight hitch in his steps as he realized the lapse in introductions as well. "I guess we had other things to think about, didn't we? It's Vilkas."

Vilkas. Even if the armor made this journey less comfortable, the proximity to him was easier than before. She knew his name now, and a little about him. The fact that he'd proven himself a person to her made this a less frightful experience. At least a little less frightful.

"And as for you being a burden," he commented.

Deanne was shocked when he took off at a sprint. She held on tight with all her limbs as he barreled through the snow. Then they were surging upward, the man finding foothold on stone instead of snow. And, just as abruptly as he'd taken off running, he jumped and they were flying. Even clinging to him as she was, Deanne felt weightless. And the wind, while no less frigid, swirled around them like a cocoon. It seemed to lift them up and hold them aloft, slowing down the seconds and giving Deanne a sense of liberation she'd never known before.

They struck the ground hard, Deanne being jammed into his armor at the abrupt halt to their flight, and everything came to a halt, the woman herself too shocked to be terrified.

He turned his head and she heard a smile as he told her, "You're hardly a burden to me."

She felt tears well up in her eyes, still coming easily to her by nature. The difference this time: these were tears of gratitude. She laid a cheek on his shoulder, overcome by his kindness.

"Thank you, Vilkas." Deanne suspected she was going to be saying that a lot between here and Winterhold.

**Auh, how nice! Leave a review and, hopefully, I'll see you all next week. Depends on how this length thing goes. Thanks for reading!**


	8. Under the Star of Dawn

**Thanks for the patience all. You know how it goes: longer chapters, more time between posts. I hope it's worth it.**

Deanne couldn't believe that Skyrim got colder. Was it really summer?

Vilkas's broad frame shielded her from the biting wind. She kept her face pressed tight against the Nord's shoulder; though not so tightly that she couldn't hear his wild tales of his homeland, or ask him an occasional question. He told her about Ysgramor, the first man to settle in Tamriel, right here in Skyrim. How he helped conquer it from the elves with his Five Hundred Companions and became a hero to the Nord people. Deanne wasn't so sure how she felt about the 'conquering' part, if the elves had called this place home first. But he seemed important, so Deanne didn't say anything.

Vilkas told her about the land as well. Some holds bore the same name as their capital city, like Winterhold and Whiterun. Others regions had names all their own: the snowy Pale and Dawnstar, the craggy Reach and Markarth. He told her about the Throat of the World and about Dragonsreach in Whiterun. Most of the information passed into Deanne's ear and immediately out the other one, the scope of information far greater than her ability to grasp. But she liked listening to him. It made him feel less like a stranger and more like a companion to her. Maybe that was what he'd meant when he'd called himself that before. Deanne had had precious few of such people in her life over the years.

And the distraction of conversation made the cold a little more bearable as well. The wind that pressed into her back and sought her cheeks never faltered. Deanne could have sworn it was a blizzard, except that Vilkas didn't seem bothered by it at all, although that might have been because he was Nord. She wasn't sure. She supposed he could be an Orc. They were big, too. But it didn't sound like he spoke through tusks. Did all Orcs have tusks, or just most?

Deanne shivered and tucked her chin down against his shoulder again, praying Winterhold wouldn't be any worse than this. But even if it wasn't, it was summer time. What would this place be like when winter came?

They kept a constant pace, the man never breaking a stride in spite of the fact that he carried two packs and a person. Mostly she clung to his back and tried not to hinder him. It was a long while and what felt like a constant drop in temperature before he said to her, "We're coming up on Dawnstar."

Deanne leaned forward and listened for the welcome sounds of civilization. But the wind was a near constant wall to her hearing. Something did come out of that wall, but it wasn't the sound of a city. In fact, she'd never heard anything like it.

"What is that?"

"What's what?" Vilkas asked.

"That…" Couldn't he hear it? "That crashing? Is something happening?" Was the city under attack?

He slowed down to a fast walk. "You've never been near the ocean, have you?"

The ocean. Father had told her about it before: an endless expanse of water that stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see. She couldn't imagine such a thing, but trusted her father when he said it existed.

"Does it always sound like that?"

"Aye."

The sound got louder until she could hear it easily over the wind. The crashing never ceased or paused or even slowed. Just that same rushing crash over and over again, never-ending. How did anyone sleep with that noise? And was the ocean what made the air smell so strange?

After a little while, Vilkas paused on their path. Then he turned them toward the left. "I think we can take a look before we go to the inn."

A guard hailing them as they passed was all that told Deanne they had entered the city. There wasn't any of the noise she'd expected. Not at all like Skingrad. Or maybe she just couldn't hear it over the ocean. She couldn't detect any walls, and the wind on the buildings told her they were made of wood. Was this really a city?

The texture of the ground beneath Vilkas' feet changed from hard snowy road to a sort of coarse sand as they came close to the noise of this thing called an ocean. Soon after he knelt down and let her disembark.

The sound of the endless crashing waves of water was all around, stretching out before her and as far as she could tell in either direction. The woman stood there, flabbergasted. Even just listening, it was enormous! She couldn't hear a mountain, so she had to trust others when they told her how large it was. But she could hear this. And standing here listening to it, the dark little radius of her world became so much bigger.

She took a few hesitant steps forward. The coarse sand beneath her feet shifted and she heard the rushing moving toward and away from her feet, telling her how close she was getting to the edge as it came to and fro. The sound was mesmerizing, like this great thing was breathing. The ocean drew up on itself in preparation, inhaling. Then exhaled, roaring low as it came forward, then crashing and rushing up the sand until it could rush no more, before drawing back and up onto itself again. It sounded was magnificent. And frightening. And exhilarating.

A particularly loud roar warned her of her proximity. Deanne gasped and tried to back up, not ready to actually come in contact with this enormous thing yet. But she stepped on the hem of her outer clothing which made to trip her up.

"Careful!" Almost immediately Vilkas came up behind her and lifted her straight up off the ground. She heard the wave crash forward and strike his legs right where she'd been an instant before. "You really don't want to get wet up here," he commented, taking a few steps back and setting her down again on dry sand.

Deanne couldn't help the panic that leapt up when he'd grabbed her. But she'd frozen instead of screaming or struggling, so perhaps that was an improvement. Still, she was glad when he let go. That kind of contact… It was still unwelcome, even from him.

She stood where she was for a while yet, listening. Back in Skingrad, this would have been enough for a day. She would have been content to hear this enormous thing and go home. Get more used to it before she thought about a physical encounter. But she wasn't in Skingrad anymore, was she? There wasn't anywhere to hide out here. And, if she was going to find her place in this big world…maybe being a little courageous now wouldn't be a bad place to start.

"…Could I touch it?" As strange as it seemed, Deanne felt like she had to ask permission for something like this. Maybe it was that she felt no sense of connection with this new thing while Vilkas must. Or it might be a callback to when she had depended on her father to dictate her activities.

Vilkas chuckled. "Of course. …Over here."

He put the back of his forearm under her palm, giving her something to hold onto without being held herself. Deanne couldn't get over how accommodating he was. She fished her hands out from inside her sleeves and hitched up the long hem of her outer garments. Then Vilkas led her along the bounds of the ocean's edge to a particular spot.

"There's a rock here." He helped her get up onto it, although he himself didn't bother. She inched out onto the stone. The incoming waves of water struck his legs, telling her she must be a little out into and above it.

When Deanne thought it far enough, she let go of him and knelt down on the stone, arranging her hems to keep them away from the ocean's touch. Then, as hesitantly as she'd ever been, she reached down for this enormous thing that had come into her world.

When the ocean first caught her fingertips, it was a shock. Deanne yelped and drew back quickly. "It's cold!"

Just to the other side of her, Vilkas laughed a bit more heartily than before. "It is that."

Deanne leaned back down and reached further this time. Her knees rocked a little on the stone, making her feel unsteady. But she wanted a true feel of this ocean.

The pressure of fingertips appeared on her waist and Deanne froze. "Just so you don't fall in," Vilkas assured her gently.

The woman swallowed and needed a couple of seconds to calm herself. It helped that it was just his fingertips, that his touch was very light, and that said touch was equidistant from anything she might describe as private.

"Go ahead," he urged. "I've got you." She swallowed again and turned her attention back to what she'd been seeking.

Deanne reached down and let the next wave completely envelop her hand. It was cold. Very cold! But she didn't draw away this time. She reached further, feeling Vilkas's fingertips more firmly as he kept her steady. This time she got the whole wave, from the crash in toward the shore, to the water being drawn back out toward the expanse, sucking her hand along with it, then pushing it back toward shore.

Deanne's sleeve fell down her arm before the next and got most of the following wave. She pulled back just long enough to roll the sodden fabric before reaching back down, not finished with this new experience.

Wave after wave rushed against her hand, colder than ice. It had a strange texture. And one touch to her lips gave her a taste of salt. Father had said that, but she hadn't thought it would be so strong. And all the while, Deanne couldn't help but smile like a fool.

It wasn't until her whole hand was numb and her knees had started to ache that she thought she ought to stop. She was taking up an awful lot of time with this.

"You done?" he asked, nonchalant when she sat back and started to get to her feet.

Deanne nodded. 'At least for now.' He helped her get back along the stone and onto the coarse sand, away from the ocean's edge. "Thank you, Vilkas." She really was going to be saying that often to him.

"My pleasure, little one. The inn's back up the road." With that, he began to kneel down so she could climb on his back again.

But Deanne hesitated. "Is it very far?" she asked.

"Not very. The town's not so big."

"Could I walk then?" He'd carried her so far already. And, as long as they were near their destination for the day, she'd like to use her legs a little.

"Of course," was the reply. He stood up and Deanne found his forearm under her palm when she reached out.

With Vilkas to guide her, Deanne walked all the way up to the inn. He'd been right about not wanting to get wet. The ground beneath her feet soon chilled her all the way through her boots and stockings. If she'd gotten her boots wet it would have been far worse. The woman felt a lance of regret that she had come up to this cold place rather than stay in fair Skingrad, even if her father had thought was best for her.

A clamor of voices that told Deanne they were approaching the inn. And, coming up the wooden steps, she made out that they were all loud, angry, demanding and aggressive. It gave her pause. And she wasn't the only one.

Vilkas angled himself to be between her and the door. "Hold a moment." He listened to the commotion occurring inside, then cracked the door and let the angry voices spill out with a gust of warm air. Even if the warmth was more than welcome, Deanne was worried enough about what was going on inside that she was hesitant to enter. They listened for a moment, Deanne herself picking out little from the hubbub. Vilkas didn't seem to hear any more than she did.

"Can't tell what's going on. But I don't think it's endangering." He turned to her. "Ready?"

She still hesitated. Father had warned her about inns and taverns. They housed all sorts, good and bad. They'd both decided she was better off at home than chancing a bad encounter or getting lost in the crowds. Her recent experience with groups of strangers and the sounds coming from inside this building did nothing to ease her concerns. But were they supposed to sleep outside tonight? Ultimately, she nodded.

"Alright. Just stay close to me." He drew the forearm she held closer to himself, and Deanne took it with both hands and edged nearer as he opened the door and they walked in.

Vilkas kept them to one side of the inn, keeping himself between her and most of those participating in this ruckus. But that didn't mean she didn't make out words from a dozen different voices.

"It's a curse, I tell you! It's got to be. The sooner we all get out of this town the better," someone yelled.

"Irgnir, get a hold of yourself. They're just dreams," an older woman insisted.

"But the same dream, over and over again. You think that's normal? It's evil I tell you!"

"She's got a point."

"What's the Jarl doing about this? Hasn't he got a court mage? Isn't this her job?"

"Brina, isn't there something _you_ can do?"

"What about that priest? What's he doing here?"

"Everyone, please—"

"He's here because this is an omen. What else could it be?"

"Everyone please calm down. Shouting does no good."

"But there's got to be something that can be done. No one's gotten a good night's rest in weeks!"

"QUUUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIET!" One deep toned bellow nearly blew the roof off the building and brought everything and everyone to a halt. Deanne instinctively tucked herself against the back of Vilkas's arm for safety.

"Thank you, Horik," a business-like woman said. Then she raised her voice to speak to the entire assembly. "Now then, I understand that tensions are high. I know that everyone is suffering. But succumbing to fear and anger will only worsen the situation for all of us. There is a priest of Mara here among us. And, if you will give him chance, he will share his guidance with us." Just like that, this one woman had control of the entire group. What had been a hysterical mob stirred beyond reason now listened to her in utter silence."If you would, Erandur."

"Thank you," a man said. "Now I can assure you, these dreams are merely that. No harm will follow them. I am doing what I can to bring an end to your hardship. I have seen the miracles of Lady Mara. It was she who saved me from such nightmares and she protect me even now. All I ask is that you remain strong and put your trust in her, as I do."

"There." The business-like woman pronounced the conclusion of the meeting with that single word. "From the mouth of a priest of Mara. Now go about your business. We've wasted enough energy on this tonight."

During the whole of the proceedings, Vilkas had gotten both of them across the inn without anyone taking any particular notice of them. With a jerk of his elbow, he urged her to stop. Then his knuckles rapped on a wooden counter immediately before them, calling the attention of whoever was behind it.

"We need lodging for the night."

"We've got one available for ten gold," replied the man being addressed. He sounded tired and worn, but made an effort to be pleasant.

"We need separate rooms," Vilkas clarified.

"Sorry. Only have the one. Lot of folk trying to get proper rest in town. We've been nearly full up for a week."

Vilkas paused, considering. "The one then." He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a handful of coins.

The man behind the counter took the money. "I'll show you to the room, then." Deanne held onto Vilkas and kept close as he followed after their host.

"No need to worry about all that," their host assured them. "Just something going around Dawnstar. Nightmares. Been keeping everyone awake and ruining what sleep we do get. They don't seem to affect passersby, so you should be fine. But my advice would be to come and go as quick as you can."

"That's the plan," Vilkas replied.

"Here we are." Even with Vilkas angling to accommodate, Deanne's shoulder still brushed the doorframe as they entered their room. "It's yours for a day. Please let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."

"Some hot food would be nice."

"We've got venison stew cooking."

"That's fine."

The host left with no more asked of him. Deanne stayed where she was, unsure how she was supposed to treat this new environment. One room for the two of them? She didn't suppose there were two beds.

"No door," Vilkas remarked. "One bed. I'll take the floor."

Deanne relaxed a little. Truth be told, that was the arrangement she had been hoping for. She just hadn't wanted to say it aloud and risk offending him.

He shrugged the bags off his other shoulder and dropped the arm that she held, prompting her to let go. "Bed's right in front of you." Then the man stepped away to busy himself with their things, which gave Deanne a chance to settle herself in her own way.

She took small steps forward with hands outstretched until she found the foot of the bedframe. She ran her hands along it, investigating the dimensions. She found the corner and the wall it was set against, then moved around to the open side. There was a table beside the bed. Brushing her fingers across the surface she discovered assorted items: some dried flowers that smelled of lavender when she crushed a bud between her fingers, a book she wouldn't be reading, and a candlestick. Ghosting her hand over the top, she discovered the candle was lit and left it alone. She wouldn't needed the light, but Vilkas might.

Deanne kept going, moving along the wall until she found the corner of the room. On she went along the third wall until she stubbed her toe on a chair. More investigation found it set against a small table with a second chair placed to mirror the first. She went on. The next corner and the fourth wall, the doorframe, the first wall and finally the bed again. One full circle. It wasn't a large room. But her father's had been smaller. Enough for the two of them tonight, she supposed.

Vilkas hadn't said a word while Deanne completed her walk around. He'd spent the time going through his bag and not paying her much attention. Maybe purposefully.

"Will you be alright not sleeping on the bed?" she asked, feeling a little guilty at the preferential treatment. It was just a lumpy mattress and a layer of furs, but the floor had to be less comfortable.

"The floor's fine. I've slept on worse," he remarked. He flicked a roll of padded fabric out now that she was done circling him and then stood up. "I'll go get us that stew. Be right back." He waited until she nodded her understanding and then left through the door.

Deanne set her fingers to the clasp of the cloak Vilkas has put around her back at the cave. It was much warmer in here than it had been outside. She didn't need all the layers. The stretch of fabric about her head and the two oversized dresses came off as well. She laid them all over the corner post of the bed before sitting down to wait for his return, all the while listening to the goings on outside the room.

People weren't very merry. Voices were fearful and agitated. Even a bard, when she tried to raise their spirits, came off as weary despite her attempt to liven the room. Deanne still listened intently to the song, Ragnar the Red, as it was performed.

Bards. Vilkas had mentioned this as they'd traveled. Skyrim's history, heroes, and myths, all told through poetry and song. Cyrodiil had minstrels, although they were few and far between. Most of those were employed in the courts of the nobility anyway. A few traveled around performing at inns and taverns. Deanne only heard about them after they'd moved on. And she'd never been up to castle Skingrad.

In Cyrodiil, most history and stories were written down, which did Deanne little good. Her first impression of Skyrim bards wasn't exactly glowing, both in regard to the performance and the material. After Vilkas's talk of Ysgramor and this bloody ballad, she wondered if all Skyrim's legends and songs were about killing people.

Vilkas returned shortly. "Got the stew and a visitor," Vilkas said first off, giving her fair warning. "Erandur, a priest of Mara."

"Hello, my daughter," came the newcomer's greeting. She recognized his voice: the one who'd been reassuring the people about the nightmares earlier.

"Hello," she said kindly, nodding toward the door-frame as the second set of footsteps passed through it. Of all the visitors that could have come, Deanne was far more comfortable with this sort. She grew up around priests and priestesses, often staying in the temple when her father had been working. But the question now: why was this priest here? Was he going to warn them about the nightmares, too?

Vilkas provided the answer as he set two bowls down on the table. "I thought he could take a look at your eyes. Since he's here anyway."

Deanne's heart was softened by the gesture. And saddened. "I don't mind. But…others have. There's nothing that can be done."

"Yeah, well… I just want to make sure."

Deanne couldn't help but smile warmly. He really was a good man. And she was very lucky that he had been the one to find her.

The priest took steps toward her. "If it is within my power to help you, I will make the attempt."

Deanne nodded. But she didn't get her hopes up. Father took her to the temple every time a new priest appeared or a new healing spell was introduced. And not one had been able to heal her. After a while the woman had accepted that darkness would be her lot in life.

"Just watch your distance there, priest. She's been through enough."

"I understand."

The priest took a seat beside her at a respectful distance and Deanne turned her face toward him, keeping her eyes level and open as every other priest had asked. He put his hands to her cheeks and angled her face upward a little, doubtless surveying what damage could be seen.

Deanne let herself be scrutinized, like all the times before. Then she felt magicka build in his hands and flow into her skin where he touched her. The first few times she'd felt this, Deanne had been so hopeful that the dark would lift and that this rush of healing would return the world of light and colors back to her. But it never did. The pain of disappointment afterward had warned her against such hopefulness.

After a few minutes of trying, the priest let his hands dropped and admitted, "There is nothing I can do. I am sorry, but the damage appears to be permanent."

Deanne refused to let those words hurt her again. "I know. But thank you for trying." She turned her head toward her companion. "And thank _you_, Vilkas. For trying." She made an effort to smile. There was no point in dwelling on what couldn't be changed. Her attempt to shrug off the disappointing result didn't stop the uncomfortable pause though.

It was Vilkas who finally broke it. "Well…Thanks anyway, priest. I guess you can go back to…whatever you're doing here."

"Actually, might I make a request of you?"

"Seems fair. You coming in here and all."

The priest hesitated. "This request would be better spoken of outside."

Vilkas paused momentarily. She could almost hear him become suspicious. "Come and eat, Deanne. Food's on the table."

She rose and went toward him and the table as she recalled its position. Vilkas's hand cupped under her elbow when she got close, the man adjusting her course by a few inches so she found the chair first.

The smell of the stew wafted into her senses and Deanne's appetite came awake with a vengeance. It smelled delicious. How long has it been since she'd had a proper meal? Her stomach knew and made its demand, almost embarrassingly loud.

The woman sat down and swept her hand out in front of her, finding the spoon and the bowl. It was a miracle she didn't begin shoveling the stew into her mouth that instant. But she didn't want to shame herself, or Vilkas, in front of the priest. That bit of pride kept her table manners intact. The first taste of the stew nearly brought tears to her eyes and she put her mind to consumption.

After she'd begun eating, Vilkas dropped himself heavily into the seat across from her and pulled his own bowl toward him. "It's been a long day, priest. You want to ask anything? You can ask it right here."

"I understand," the priest replied. "But this request would benefit from some discretion."

Vilkas replied resolutely, "If you can't ask it in decent company, then maybe it isn't something you should ask at all."

The priest hurried to explain himself. "I am trying to help these people. They are in serious danger. But if anyone overhears what I say…it could start a panic."

"Serious danger?" Vilkas asked. "I thought I heard you say there was nothing to worry about."

"…Yes, I did say that." He took a breath and seemed to steel himself. "Please. I believe I can help. But not alone. I need the assistance of one such as yourself. And I would prefer not to frighten anyone while I explain."

"Why not go to the Jarl or someone who is actually affected by all this? Dawnstar can't be that lacking in warriors."

The priest sighed, then said sadly, "These people are worn by what is happening to them. Weakened by too many restless nights… Even if any of them had the strength, they would either be too frightened by the prospect of what is occurring, or not believe me at all."

"But you thought I looked like a better bet."

The priest confirmed, "You appear to be a hardened warrior, yes. And I do not know if I will be able to find another before the damage here becomes permanent. I had to take the chance." The furs whispered and the bedframe creaked as he likely sat forward to press his point. "Please. I ask that you trust me, if only enough to hear me out."

Vilkas didn't respond immediately. He sat still long enough that Deanne wondered if he would speak at all. Then he lifted his bowl from the table, tipped what remained of the contents into his mouth and set it down definitively. "Fine then. Talk."

"Thank you. But please, I'd still prefer to take this somewhere less…crowded." the priest repeated. "I do not wish to cause any alarm to the townsfolk. Or your companion."

There was another long, suspicious pause.

"Think you'll be alright here for a bit, Deanne?" Vilkas finally asked softly.

She lowered her spoon and nodded in his direction. The truth was, Deanne hadn't expected this conversation to remain in her vicinity for long. Important conversations didn't tend to happen around her. It was just something she'd gotten used to over the years. And, while she was more than a bit apprehensive of being on her own, this room was a better environment than most for it to happen in. Even if the one person she was even remotely familiar with was not present, there were others within shouting distance if she truly needed anything.

Vilkas stood up. "I won't be gone long."

He must have made some meaningful gesture at the priest, because the other man quickly agreed, "No, not long at all."

By the way he assured her, Vilkas seemed genuinely concerned with how she would handle being alone. "I'll be alright," she said, imparting some assurance of her own to him.

The two men proceeded to leave the room. She tried not to wonder about what they were going to be talking about. Something to do with the nightmares that everyone here was suffering from, and frightening enough that he approached a stranger rather than anyone in the town.

It was better she not think about it. If anyone in the town would be frightened by what was happening, she certainly would be terrified. So the woman finished her stew and waited patiently for Vilkas' return, passing the time by listening to the people outside the room.

It was disquieting. After several minutes, Deanne had not heard a joke or a laugh or anything lighthearted from the people of the inn. Everyone, without exception, was melancholy or irritable. And anyone she heard speaking sounded exhausted. Someone had said this had been going on for weeks, and she believed it. Deanne felt for these people. And she hoped that the priest really did have a way to help them.

It wasn't long at all before her companion returned. And the first thing he said upon entering the room was, "We should probably get some sleep. Gotta get an early start tomorrow."

That wasn't what she'd been expecting at all. "What about the priest of Mara?"

"What about him?" Vilkas asked, walking over to shift his pack against the wall.

"He asked for your help with something, didn't he?"

"He did."

"So? Are you going to help him?"

The answer was terse and dispassionate. "No."

Deanne was taken aback by the quality of the response. "Why not?"

"Because I'm helping you," he said matter-of-factly. "I promised to get you to Winterhold. I'm not going to drop you in the middle of that to help any mer or man who asks for something."

"Oh." That did make sense…she supposed. And Deanne did appreciate that he had no intention of abandoning her. But the priest Erandur had sounded genuine when he'd said that he could help these people. And when he said he could not do it without help. Without Vilkas's help.

Vilkas left the room briefly with the bowls and she dimly heard him pass them off to the proprietor before returning. "Come on, little one. It's been a long day. Time to get some sleep."

He came over to stand near her as a prompting, but let Deanne get up and find her way over to the bed without his assistance. A small but much needed victory for her. Still, the priest's request continued to bother her.

"Could you help them if you wanted to?" she asked as she placed herself under the furs.

Vilkas waited until she was settled before dropping to the floor and settling into his bedroll. "I don't know. Probably. The priest sure thought so." He brushed to topic aside. "Go to sleep, little one. I told you: we need to get an early start."

Deanne fell silent and curled up under the covering. She shouldn't be worrying about what was going on here. She didn't know these people. And the priest would find someone else if he really needed to. Vilkas and Deanne were going to Winterhold tomorrow. The college was still a long way away. She should be more focused on that.

She was in the process of drifting off when a voice became distinct outside the room.

"Mead, Thoring!"

The demand was made loudly and only a few feet beyond their door.

"I think you've had enough for one night, Karl," the inn's proprietor replied, making less of an effort to hide his exhaustion with someone he obviously knew. "Go home. Get some rest."

"That's what I'm tryin' to do. So gimme the damned mead."

The proprietor sighed heavily. "Don't do this tonight, Karl."

Deane sat up quickly in the bed as a load landed hard against the counter. "You gimme that mead or I'll take it out of your hide!"

There was a brief sound of struggle and a loud grunt before a table was upset, scattering tankards and shattering dishes. Vilkas was on his feet in a minute and went straight to the door. Deanne was frightened he might dive out into the fight, but he stayed in the doorway. And it was a good thing he did.

Ceramics were ground beneath the twisting bodies as the two men grappled. Chairs were scooted or upheaved by them and by others trying to get out of the way. Some tried to separate the brawlers, yelling angrily. There were several outcries of pain, followed by even louder curses. The sounds of fighting increased, people who had previously tried to stop the fighting now taking part. More tables were toppled, wood was broken with sounds of heated exertion, blows were dealt with objects of metal.

Deanne sat rigid, her hands fisted in the furs. She jumped when the sound of an impact came through the wall of the room. This was one of the things that quelled Deanne's interest in taverns and inns. Father made it sound like people got in fights all the time in these places. And fear of being caught up in one kept Deanne out of greater gathering places, even when the opportunities arose. She didn't know how to fight. Didn't want to know how to fight. But that didn't help to quiet the chaos now raging outside their room.

Thank the Divines for Vilkas. His presence in the doorway was all that kept her from crawling under the bed to hide. He remained at the doorway, turning away anyone who happened to stumble or lunge in that direction, keeping the danger away from her until the entrance to the inn was thrown open and multiple sets of armor waded into the fighting. Deanne's heart stayed in her throat through the whole affair, all the way until the last of the participants had been broken up and two people were dragged out of the building cursing and yelling.

Her escort stayed where he was until everything had settled down. Only then did he turn back and assure her, "Just a little fight. All over now."

She nodded, if a little hesitantly. She'd never been this close to a fight of any kind. Except yesterday, perhaps. But that was less a fight and more a massacre.

"Don't worry, little one. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. Go to sleep. I'll stay up for a while."

Deanne lowered her head back down onto the pillow. Vilkas drew his sword and walked over to the table where they had eaten. He sat down and began running a cloth along the length of his blade, both to pass the time and keep it at the ready for any happenings.

'Just a little fight.' That hadn't sounded little. And it had started so abruptly. Over a mead? Perhaps this was normal tavern behavior. Or perhaps it was more evidence of their hardship.

Deanne took a breath to ask about what the priest of Mara had said to Vilkas outside, but stopped herself.

Vilkas was taking her to Winterhold. He'd said so. He'd refused to help the priest Erandur on the grounds that he was already helping her. He was standing by her, even in the face of these people's plight. Maybe she should let him. After all, what if the assistance that Erandur needed was something dangerous? What if something happened to Vilkas? What would happen to Deanne without him?

She felt for these people. She really did. But…she needed Vilkas in order to get to Winterhold. And he had already made the decision to stay with her. Something that her brother had said occurred to her: she needed to start looking to herself. Perhaps she would need to be a little selfish if she was going to make it out here on her own. Things were working out for her: she had someone who was helping her and only her. Certainly that should be enough.

Deanne closed her eyes and tried to will her mind to sleep. The sound of Vilkas's blade filled her ears and she let it drown out the troubled murmuring outside the door. The sound of cloth on the blade instilled in her, not a fear of the weapon or its wielder, but a sense of security. And it was that security which finally allowed her to fall into slumber.

XXX

She must have slept for a few hours, long enough for most everyone in the inn to depart or retire. It was quiet. There were no sounds of people eating or drinking or sitting at table. No hushed attempts at conversation in spite of exhaustion. But quiet was not silent.

Through the wooden walls of the inn, she heard someone stir. There was a subtle movement of bed dressing as the person in the room next to theirs' shifted in their sleep. They moaned pitifully and moved again, trying but unable to find a position that permitted them peace of rest. In the room further down, another sleeper was more vocal. They groaned loudly and then became quiet. Less than a minute later, they wailed again as though in pain.

Beyond the sounds of these two were others: someone whimpering, almost perpetually, like a frightened child. Someone else mumbling feverishly. These sounds of suffering, subtle at first waking, were now almost impossible for Deanne to shut out.

One of the sleepers thrashed and then grunted loudly as they came awake. Deanne held her breath and listened. He sighed heavily, like a man burdened and defeated. She heard him stand up and leave his room. His steps were shuffled. Then there was a pause. A moment later she heard him take a few more steps and sigh his way down into a chair. After another moment, the whimpering stopped abruptly as another woke.

"Shhh. It's just me," said the man that Deanne now identified as the Inn's proprietor.

A young woman sighed and dropped back onto a bedframe. "I dreamt of mother." The words were spoken very softly and across the inn, but Deanne could still hear them.

"I know," the man replied. "So did I."

Deanne felt a pain in her heart as she listened to them. She listened until the man began humming a lullaby and the young woman, who must have been his daughter, dozed off again. She listened until the man followed and the shifting and whimpering resumed, diminished but still present.

She couldn't do it.

The blind woman turned over in the direction of her escort. "Vilkas?" she whispered. There was no response. "_Vilkas_?" she whispered a bit more loudly, wondering if she would have the nerve to truly attempt to wake him for this.

He had good hearing. Or perhaps he was a light sleeper. After a sharp inhale and a vocalized exhalation he rolled over and realized she'd spoken. "Can't sleep?"

She shook her head.

Vilkas sat up slightly. "Bad dreams?"

Deanne fiddled with one of the furs. "Not mine." As her voice fell off, the sounds of the sleepers entered her ears again. She wondered if he could hear them as well as she could. "Vilkas?"

"Mmm." He sounded ready to get back to sleep.

"I…" Deanne steeled herself and tried to put some decisiveness into her voice. "I want you to help these people."

He sighed as the previous decision was brought back to the table. "I told you, little one, I'm not doing anything until I'm done with you. Winterhold's not so far off. I can come back after, if it would make you feel better."

"I know but…"

"No 'buts'. Go back to sleep."

Maybe a few weeks ago, she would have obeyed. But being out here, in the real world, it changed things. She was just one person in this enormous place that stretched out further than she could imagine. She was fundamentally insignificant. And weighing her well-being against that of an entire town? It didn't seem right to monopolize the time of someone who could be doing good for more people. It wasn't right of her.

"Vilkas. Please." He didn't make a sound, but his breathing pattern told her he wasn't asleep just yet. Deanne sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. She did need him. But so did these people. "Back in Skingrad, if the priests did too much without getting rest, they would act different. They would yell more or get really quiet. But you could always tell they were unhappy."

The sounds of the sleepers seemed to weigh against her ears. "I can hear them. These people have been through weeks like this. What if they don't have a few days for you to come back? They already started a fight over nothing. Someone could get really hurt. I can wait a little while to get to Winterhold." What had Vilkas said before? "You're a companion. This is what you do, isn't it?"

She waited, hoping he would understand what she was trying to say. It hadn't really come out very well, had it? At least not exactly as she'd meant it to. Certainly not as persuasive as she'd meant.

Vilkas didn't say a word and Deanne sighed. She felt strongly about this, she just…didn't know how to express it. How to convince him—anyone, really. These people needed help. Deanne couldn't do anything, but Vilkas could. So it was right for him to do it. Or rather, it was wrong for Deanne to keep him to herself.

But Vilkas didn't say a word.

Deanne didn't know if she had the will or the eloquence to try another argument. Thank the Divines she didn't have to.

"Alright. I'll talk to the priest in the morning." He shifted in his bedroll. "But only if you're sure about this."

Deanne nodded. "I am. It's the right thing."

He sighed and flopped back onto the ground, sounding like he already regretted agreeing to her request. Deanne lay back down as well and the voices of the fatigued seemed less of a weight on her mind. That lessened weight only made room for a new concern: that for Vilkas and herself if this task proved to be dangerous. But she found comfort in the fact that this might result in the people of Dawnstar being freed of their nightmares. And that comfort allowed her sleep again.

**So, how do you think things are going? Let me know. I'll keep on the writing front.**


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